The Dark Secret of Rick
by The Cypress Scholar
Summary: After a year away from home, Rick returns to find that he has become obsessed with his beautiful younger sister. How will he be affected by this and how far will he go to hide his terrible secret? Onesided RickxPopuri. Other pairings also.
1. Simple Days

The Dark Secret of Rick

Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon or any of its characters.

Author's Notes: This piece deals with very, very mature themes and is likely to make quite a few people uncomfortable. If you feel uneasy about them, then exit if you wish. This story is told from Rick's POV. Please enjoy and, as ever, please R&R. No flames please, for what would they accomplish?

P.S. This is NOT an explicit piece and never will be. I am a writer, not a pornographer.

Chapter One: Simple Days

Ah, Popuri! Such a sweet name, such a sweet child! Who could ever forget her radiance, her bright and shining hair streaming out behind her as she ran laughing through the glowing fields in the warm evening sun of summer? Not I, that is for sure.

My lawyer says that he may have found a way to avoid the ultimate punishment for my crimes. He suggests that I plead insanity and be confined to an asylum. After a few years, he reasons, I can be "cured" and leave a free man. I could write a book and we (he made sure to emphasise the word _we_. Typical lawyer.) would become rich. Ah, the scandal, the mystery, and some might say the _perversion_ behind it all. Yes, I am cynical. It is a natural consequence of what I have been through. I wasn't always like this though. Three years ago, I was a far different man. More idealistic and willing to believe that things would turn out alright. Let me take you, whomever, wherever and whenever you are, reader, back to those happy days, those simple, wonderful days.

I was born on 27th November 1985 in Mineral Town on Mineral Island. My parents were named Rod and Lillia. Wonderful, loving parents, the best any child could hope for. I am stating this merely to prove that I was not abused as a child. My actions were of my own free will, the will of a healthy, happy and mentally stable person. My father worked as a poultry farmer, just like his father and grandfather before him. He was good, very good; he taught me all I know about the subject and I must admit I know a _lot_. My mother helped him by selling the produce of his labour and was quite a shrewd saleswoman in her own right. For three years, it was just the trio of Father, Mother and I.

Then on 3rd July 1988, my beloved sister Popuri was born late at night in our home. The doctor remarked on what a beautiful child she was with her shock of pink hair. He also mentioned how healthy her lungs were (good God how she bawled!). I was not interested in the newborn and paid her little heed. Except for noticing that considerably less attention was lavished on me, her existence did not affect me at all. Life carried on as ever.

I grew up, went to school and made many friends; among them a young blonde girl named Karen. She was my first real love. How many happy games we played together in the young glory of spring, the ecstatic atmosphere of summer, the fading beauty of autumn and the glossy snows of winter, year in and year out. As Popuri grew older, she joined in our games, except during the summers when a boy called Kai came and played with her. At that time I didn't mind. After all, Popuri was a weedy little kid and Karen and I were generally happier to be by ourselves.

Perfection! A happy home life with two loving parents and a little sister for company, combined with my love and friendship that I shared with Karen. What could give more happiness? But alas, nothing lasts for ever and these golden days were to come to an end after eight glorious years.

1st February 1998: I remember the date well because Mother would always sit by the window all day on the anniversary of the event, simply waiting for her rescuer to return.

It had been two years earlier when she had been diagnosed with cancer, but Father had decided to keep the terrible news from us. He thought it would be better if we did not know that Mother was dying, that it would serve no purpose. Besides, we'd never truly understand what it was that was happening to her. But after two years, two years of constant medical failures, that Father took it on himself to save Mother.

I'd come home from school and found the envelope taped to the door. It was titled _Rick_ in Father's handwriting. Confused, I wrenched it off the door and opened it. Inside was a letter. As I read it, I sat down slowly on the doorstep, unable to stand due to shock.

_Rick,_

_I do not know how to tell you this, but it must be told. Mother is sick with cancer and all the doctors have failed to cure her. There is only one thing that can cure her now and that is a special flower which only blooms once every half century. It grows in a special garden in a monastery in Tibet. I must travel there and I do not know how long I will be gone. You were always a bright and perceptive child. I am sure that you can manage the farm until I return. God bless you my son and always remember to look after your little sister. She is a very special little girl._

_Your loving father_

I don't remember what I did next. Perhaps I cried. I was always very emotional. But regardless of what I did, I pulled myself together and took over where Father had left off. He had left for Tibet and I was still here, that was all that mattered.


	2. The Mural on the Wall

Chapter Two: The Mural on the Wall

With Father gone, I immediately took over his daily tasks, to the surprise and admiration of everyone. People who had been whispering, "Poor lad" and, "Can't cope on his own" were now cheering me on with praise such as, "Such a good little chap!" and, "The best son a mother could have!" I loved every second of it.

Every morning I would attend to the chickens and every afternoon I would get groceries for Mother, who was beginning to slow down. I was excused from school and everyone remarked on how good I was. It was certainly good for a thirteen-year-old to care for his mother and his sister at the expense of much of his own life.

Psychiatrists are fascinated by these turn of events in my life. The whole lot are unanimous that this is where it started. Family role confusion, they call it. Pah! Nonsense! I was simply looking out for my family. I had no desire to supplant my father as head of the household. But perhaps there is some truth in the suggestion that Mother had dwindled to the status of a family member such as a live-in grandfather; someone who is loved and looked after, but not actually important. Now I was the man of the house and every man needs a woman…but that is yet to come.

Karen was still there for me. Our love had heated up as we hit puberty. How many times we rolled in the hay – literally – making out. We were never discovered, but sometimes it was pretty damn close. We were both excellent runners, which made discovery even less likely. I guess the danger of discovery kept the relationship exciting, a relationship with a zenith that would last for four years.

And where was Popuri in all of this? She had never really grown up, either physically or mentally. She was still as bratty, child-like and stick-thin as ever. She was dirty, like all children are, but to be going on fourteen and retaining the appearance of an eight-year-old was quite worrying. Nevertheless, Popuri's figure was not a subject of interest to me.

Four years had passed and Father still had not returned. Mother was getting very worried. She feared that he would not return before she died. Taking me aside one day as I came home; as my young sister trudged upstairs to bed with her dirty, matted hair, her acne-marked face, her poorly-developed figure and her smell of the salty sea, she said, "Rick, tomorrow I want you to go and find your father. I don't care how long it takes, how much money you have to spend, just find him and bring him home." I promised I would.

The next morning, before Popuri got up, Mother saw me off as the sun rose in the sky, a glowing ray of hope for my mission. I took my wallet, with 50,000G in notes. Mother expected me to be away for a long time. As she couldn't go very far, I walked alone for most of the way. To my surprise, Karen was waiting at the docks. She ran up to me and said, "Don't be away too long! I love you and want you to come home soon, so that we can be together always."

I was touched and replied with, "Of course Karen, how could I ever leave, knowing that you were still here?"

We kissed and I was tempted to bid her farewell with another hefty lovemaking session, but my desire was cut with the loud, raucous call of the boatman.

"Come on son!" he shouted, "I haven't got all day!"

I quickly said goodbye to Karen and hopped onto the small boat. I sat down on one of the seats and watched her until she was out of sight. It was the spring of 2002 and I would not see my family or my friends for a full year.

My first stop was Leaf City. Mother had said that Father would stay there on his way home, so that was the most logical place to start searching. I looked through all the hotels, but no mention was made of my father. Unwilling to miss him, I hunkered down in several cheap motels for the next three months, afraid that I might miss him by a day.

After my stay in Leaf City, I began to search further afield. Rainbow Town, Star City, Yellow State; I searched them all looking for my elusive father. I travelled to many strange and diverse areas. Once, I even crossed the border into a neighbouring country and searched for a week. However, by January of 2003, I knew that Father would not be coming home. My money was running out and I was concerned about my family. Reluctantly, I turned and headed home, hitchhiking and walking most of the way.

Finally, in May 2003, after travelling over five thousand miles during my tour of the outside world, I was back on the boat and approaching dear Mineral Town. A relaxed, contented smile crossed my face as the beloved green island came into view. I was home, but sadly with nothing to show for it; but home itself would reward me for my pains.

As I stepped off the boat onto the good sand of Mineral Beach, my ego silently complained that there was no welcoming party. Shrugging it off, I walked home, trying to keep my spirits up, but lamenting that Father had not been discovered.

The Poultry Farm came into view; nothing had changed much, at least on the outside. I was glad for that, no change outside usually meant there was no change inside and I was hoping that Mother was as well as she had been a year earlier.

I knocked on the door and after a few moments it opened. There was Mother, looking slightly frailer, but not nearly as bad as I had feared. In surprise and joy she fell into my arms and I hugged her warmly. Through her tears, she whispered in a cracked voice, "Is he here?"

"…No," I managed quietly.

"I see…" was the disappointed reply. An uncomfortable silence permeated the scene for a brief moment before it was washed away by Mother saying, "Well, come on in! You've missed so much!"

Taking my arm, she led me out into the garden. As we walked down, arm in arm, I noticed that apart from one extra chicken coop and a few more chickens, nothing had changed. Or so it appeared. At the bottom of the garden, in the clearing, there was a huge mural on the brick wall which separated the old man's farm from our own, very pretty and colourful. But before I could comment on it my mother shouted in joyous tones to someone outside my vision, "Popuri, your brother's home!"

I turned and fell in love. There she was, whoever she was, for it was not Popuri, at least not the Popuri I had known, sitting on the ground, enjoying the beautiful weather with a basket of flowers decorating her lovely left hand. The old Popuri was a scraggy little creature, but this nymph, this goddess, surpassed Aphrodite in loveliness. Yet, through the hazy mists of passion, I could see that it was Popuri. Astounding!

In place of her thin, matted and lustreless hair was a head of vibrant, radiant glory; pink and yet not shockingly pink, simply a wonderful, very light reddish hue. Gone was her acne and left in its place was pure, porcelain skin. Vanished forever was her set of stained baby teeth and now she possessed a set of pure white teeth. Her stick-thin figure had been replaced with feminine curves, with rounded buttocks and perfectly formed breasts. She was wearing a red skirt, with a white blouse supplemented with a black bodice. She saw me and flashed me one of those pearly smiles. The last fourteen years wavered in my mind one last time and disappeared forever. A few individual stabs of morality tried vainly to point out that what I was doing, contemplating, was completely and utterly immoral, but they were brushed aside easily. Never in my life had I witnessed such beauty – never…

But Mother had finished pointing out Popuri and was now talking about the mural she had painted. It was of the Virgin, the Holy Mother. My own mother had always had a religious streak which she had failed to pass on to either of her children.

"I did it myself to pass the time," said my mother, "Isn't she beautiful, if I do say so myself?"

I was not looking at the painting, but was fixed in admiration at the sight of young Popuri tossing her hair and enjoying the slight breeze that was in the air on that glorious day.

"She most definitely is," I replied, shaking my head in wonder, "She most definitely is!"

If you've made it this far, I applaud you. Thank you for taking the time to read. Please review, it really helps me with my writing skills. God bless you all and Merry Christmas!


	3. The First Day

kelley28: Thank you for your kind words. You evaluate me very highly and I'm glad you enjoyed the story! I shall keep an eye out for your stories.

Sobi15: I also thank you. It was a relief to hear that the subject matter wasn't too intense and that someone thinks I'm handling it well. Also, it's good to hear that I'm getting enough description in (that's my major problem at school and my teacher's getting at me quite severely for it).

Onwards!

Chapter 3: The First Day

I stayed in the garden for an hour, which is surprising, since I hate it so intensely. I always felt uncomfortable in there because the brick and the grass clashed terribly (unusual reason I know, but I'm an unusual person, as you no doubt have realised), but with my angel in there, it was a veritable paradise. Popuri sat there, enjoying the pleasant breeze. Her eyes were closed and she was humming a long-forgotten tune. I sat nearby in a deckchair, my newspaper a camouflage as I watched her over the top of the lurid headline: PASSION MURDER IN SMALL TOWN! She stretched her lovely arms a couple of times and gave an adorable yawn once and my soul melted. After about an hour, she got up and wandered away, into town, flower basket in hand. Who knows why she sat there for an hour for no reason? Who cares? I certainly didn't complain.

The rest of the day was spent in idle wander throughout the town. I was greeted by Doug (which was good, I respect the chap), talked to the Mayor (average, I have no particular animosity or friendship towards the man) and Encountered Manna (with a capital E; an Encounter with Manna was a unique experience when it came to a conversation). But I was not really listening to me or anyone else. My consciousness was filled with my little sister.

Ah! So wonderful a gift and so horrible a curse! Such a gift that an angel like Popuri could live under the same roof as me, be in close contact with me day after day. Such a curse that she was the only woman in the world who was forbidden to me. Why is fate so cruel?

Let me tell you more about her. She was a late fourteen that spring, going on fifteen, which meant that she would finish school that summer. I never knew what she planned to do afterwards, for she never told me. Perhaps she would have been a fine actress; she always was a drama queen. But now that is gone forever and who could say what have been?

She made an average poultry farmer, not brilliant, but able to scrape by should she ever start her own farm. She miscounted eggs, forgot to buy the right amount of feed, but was excellent at caring for the chickens. She loved every living thing on this wonderful earth and would often show it. But what she loved most of all was the hot spring. She would go up there every morning. I never followed her; I do have _some_ decency after all.

Anyway, later that day I was in the bar, enjoying my favourite tipple, when Karen came in wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. She saw me and a wave of joy crossed her face. She ran over and grabbed my face, giving me a kiss that was sloppier than required. She then sat down next to me and said, "It's so good to see you!"

I smiled lightly and replied, "It's great to see you as well."

"So," asked Karen cheerfully, "is he back?"

"No," I replied, with a hint of regret, "I couldn't find him."

"Ah, I'm sorry," whispered Karen, her eyes on the floor. A brief pause before she added more cheerfully, "So! Lots of stuff has happened around here! See all the flowers! Don't you think that the place gets prettier with age?"

"I sure do," I replied dreamily.

"Dear old Freddy's getting weaker," sighed Karen, "but he won't admit it. He'll be the death of himself at this rate."

I started at this. Dearest Freddy West, our beloved farmer of the West Farm, here since 1947, was starting to feel his age? Nonsense, Freddy would never die, I thought, for he was a very fit man. Kind too. He used to pull me onto his knee and tell me stories about his service in the Pacific. How enthralled I was! I wanted to be a soldier for a while after that, but the poultry business called and reality shattered my dreams once more. I would sorrow if he died; we all would. Freddy was a great part of our town.

"Well, all men have their times," I said, proverbially. Karen then changed the subject and asked, "Want to go out tomorrow night?"

"Sure thing," I replied, "I must go now; errands to run and all that. I'll see you tomorrow at eight?"

"Yeah," replied Karen, giving me a smile, "Eight it is."

I left the Inn and walked back towards my house. A date! But I was not as enthusiastic as in times past. Although Karen was a great girl and a lot of fun to be with, she was not Popuri. I shook my head and scolded myself mentally. Stop this, I thought. You're getting obsessive. Just enjoy your date and forget her for now. Oh, were it that easy!

I got home just as it was getting dark. Moths fluttered lazily around the lantern fixed above the door and I breathed in the warm air. How wonderful to experience such pleasant weather! I let myself in and closed the door behind me. Inside, Mother was getting supper for Popuri, who was sitting on the sofa in front of a quiet fire, playing idly with her hair as she read a book. She looked up and greeted me with one of her world-winning smiles and carefully selected slang, "What's up Rick?"

"Hello Rick," said Mother as she finished the sandwich she was making, "How was your day?"

"It was good I guess," I replied, "I'm tired, so I'm off to bed."

"Of course dear," smiled my mother, "Sleep well. Oh, and Gotz came last winter. He renovated the bedroom; now it's split into three sections. Yours is at the end. Goodnight!"

I walked upstairs and to my annoyance found that it was true; wooden walls separated the rooms. Curses! I would not be able to see my glossy-haired angel as she slept! No matter, it was still quite pleasant. The whole storey was a lot bigger, so the house felt less cramped, which was helpful to all. I staggered into my room, locked the door and went to sleep. Tomorrow would be another day; another day in which to admire from a respectful distance my unearthly sister as she went about her life.

As ever, please R&R!


	4. Uncle Freddy

Young Wizard Link: That's quite a good question you've raised about Rick. Yes, he is too mature, but remember that he's writing from a future date, when the events of this story have already happened. He says, "_Yes, I am cynical. It is a natural consequence of what I have been through. _Hopefully that answers your comment. Thanks for reviewing.

Karen Moondrop: That is a relief to hear. Sometimes I wonder if it's too disturbing to a lot of readers, so it's good to hear that for one person at least, it isn't. Thank you very much for reviewing (love your new HM fanfic by the way!).

DarklightZERO: That's a very interesting angle and one I've considered quite carefully. As ever, thanks for reviewing.

Onwards!

Chapter 4: Uncle Freddy

The next morning I was in the bathroom, shaving off the fuzz of the night when everything suddenly became dark.

"Guess who?" piped an excited voice.

I smiled, ready to play along with the game, "Well, there are two other people living in this house and Mother has difficulty getting up the stairs. Considering that I just heard the toaster, it would seem that she is downstairs. So I guess you are Popuri."

"Right!" giggled Popuri as she removed her hands. I chuckled and continued my boring task. Popuri walked up to the side of the sink and crouched down, leaning her chin on the sink.

"Why do boys have to shave?" she asked.

"Because if we didn't, we'd look really untidy," I replied, "Unless of course, you're Gotz or a hippy." I shuddered inwardly. I was often mistaken for a hippy, thanks to my longish hair and love of animals.

"Yeah, I know," said Popuri quietly, twisting a lock of her lovely hair around a slender finger, "But why does, you know, hair grow there in the first place?"

"Oh Popuri," I replied, smiling, "I'm no scientist. All I know is that I have to do it and it's a bloody nuisance to boot."

She giggled. God knows why, but it was a pleasant giggle and I missed no opportunity to hear my angel laugh. I heard Mother calling her and she said, "Gosh, gotta go feed the chickens. See ya!" She ran out of the room and bounded down the stairs. I smiled and continued with my task.

All day I thought of the date. I hoped it would get me out of this new obsession with my sister (even though a fairly large part of me did not want it to die) and back into normality. I felt guilty about what I was feeling, but also glad in my heart that my intentions were pure. I had no desire to have any interactions with her, my only wish was to admire her from afar.

Around one o'clock in the afternoon, I wandered over to the West Farm, ostensibly to deliver some eggs on my mother's behalf. However, I had a personal reason for going there as well. Dear Uncle Freddy was a warm and loving friend of mine; like a father to me and I felt guilty for not having gone to see him before.

I found the good old man as I had always found him before; hard at work in his beloved fields. He was reaping his spring crops when I wandered onto his land and shouted, "Uncle Freddy!"

Freddy got up, wiped the sweat off his wrinkled brow and looked at me. He had a white moustache and an orange and blue cap which was turned backwards. His body was very muscular for a man of his age, thanks to the hard work he had done daily for more than fifty-five years. He peered at me for a moment and then his face lit up with recognition. He called to me, "Rick? What are you doing over there you lazy son of a gun? Come here and give this old man a hug!"

After carefully putting the box of eggs down by the kennel, I rushed over and gave him a big hug, which I loved. Hugging Uncle Freddy was like hugging Santa Claus, all fluffy and nice.

"So did you find your pop?" asked Freddy. I shook my head. "I see," he replied sadly. Wanting to change the subject, I said cheerfully, "My mother sent me over with some eggs. They're by the kennel."

"Ah, good, good!" said the old man happily, rubbing his hands. As we walked over to get them he said, "It's time for lunch now. Would you like to join me?"

"Of course!" I replied.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Freddy put the cress sandwich in front of me, he said, "The Poultry Farm's really been booming while you were away."

"Has it?" I asked, surprised, "How did Mother and Popuri manage?"

"Oh Karen helped out a lot," answered Freddy, "In her free time, she was always there, doing your chores."

I smiled. Karen was very good to my family. She treated them like her own and they treated her as a second daughter.

"Popuri was good too," added Freddy, "She tried her best and your mom and Karen taught her a fair bit. Nowhere near as good as either of them, but definitely a helping hand."

I smiled. Such a precious little treasure.

I ate in silence for a while and then asked, "So how are you Uncle Freddy? Karen was worried that you might not be feeling so good."

The old man snorted, "Nonsense! I'm as fit as I ever was! Although I sometimes get short of breath, it's nothing serious!"

I left it at that. Freddy was obviously denying his age, as he always had done. I noticed a hunting rifle in the corner of the room and asked him about it.

"Oh that," he said dismissively, "I got that a few months ago. It's mainly for decoration, but you're welcome to use it for target practice. I'll never use it and I know how you and Karen love hitting cans with your own gun. Why not borrow it and have two?"

I thanked him and asked if I could take it now, since I had a date tonight.

"Sure!" he replied happily, "You can also use the old bit of farm at the back like you used to."

I finished my sandwich a little while later and thanked him.

"You should come round and have a drink sometime Rick," said Freddy, getting up and shaking my hand, "I still have some of the '72 left; a very good year. We should enjoy it together."

"I'd love to Uncle Freddy," I replied, "but I'm very busy at the moment. How about in a couple of months. I'll try and arrange sometime then."

"Alright!" was the reply.

I bid the good fellow goodbye and left for home, taking the gun with me. I decided to take the long way round, through the hot spring and the area around Gotz's cabin and enjoy the natural beauty reflected in the light of the setting sun. As I trudged past the river where the Goddess dwelled, I considered my relationship with Karen. Sure, she was a great person to be with and was always good for a laugh, but she seemed to lack the grace, the charm and the elegance of my true love. What was I to do? I could not dump Karen and chase vainly after my Popuri, the only woman on earth I could never have. What purpose would it serve? What ruin it would bring to my family!

As I pondered my agonizing plight, who should come up the path but the object of my desire herself. Dressed in her usual clothes, she balanced a towel on her porcelain army and seemed to float up the path, so light was her gait, far removed from the clumsy run she had made before my long journey. She saw me and smiled, "Hey Rick. Mom's looking for you. You've been gone for two hours."

I stopped in front of her and, trying to appear composed, said, "Oh, have I been gone that long?"

I walked ahead, but stopped immediately when Popuri made a slightly irritated, "Ahem!" She walked back and stood in front of me, holding out her lovely hand.

"What?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"I believe it is proper for a gentleman to kiss a lady's hand," she intoned in a posh accent.

Oh joy! I immediately accepted and grasped her hand gently. How soft it was! I lightly kissed her perfumed hand and she giggled. Oh, could it have gone on forever! Giggling again, she said, "Rick, that is not the _proper_ way to kiss a lady's hand! One day we must practice, no?"

Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes! How I would look forward to that day! I wanted to tell her how much I would anticipate the chance to practice, to be able to grasp her perfectly formed hand and have my tender lips blessed by its loveliness. Yet instead I kept my discipline and merely replied, "Yeah, that would be cool."

"Go Rick," she whispered, "Mom is waiting for you and she was pretty annoyed when I left." She stepped silently on towards the hot spring, which I supposed to be her destination.

I did not, could not care even if Mother threatened me with death for my tardiness! I soared on the wings of ecstasy and flew in a dreamy haze towards home. I flung open the doors of my house and Mother was waiting for me.

"Where have you been?" she snapped, "The chickens need feeding!"

I happily went about my task and when it was done I bounded up the stairs and into the bathroom. Singing mightily, I let a torrent of water roar into the bathtub. I sung a song to which I could never remember the lyrics, but made them up in my head to fit the rhythm. It was perfect and it was about love; the perfect emotion.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

I picked Karen up from her house and eight o'clock on the dot and we walked over to the West Farm, rifles in hand. In our usual spot, we put up the tin cans and began firing at them from twenty-five feet away. Karen was always the better shot, but I was swiftly catching up with her in terms of skill. We had been shooting for about twenty minutes when Uncle Freddy came up to us, walking in that old man way with hands behind back. We ran up to him and Karen asked, "Sorry Uncle Freddy, are we being too loud?"

"No, no, no," answered the old man, waving his hand in rejection, "I actually came to ask you kids something. How would you like a pool installed here? In the summer, you're welcome to come and swim in it as much as you like."

We were ecstatic. A pool was what we had always wanted. Granted, the sea was alright, but sometimes the waves made it too rough to go in. The pool would always be calm and it would be safer.

"That'd be a brilliant idea!" we shouted in unison.

"Good," smiled Freddy, "I'll have Gotz come over and start first thing tomorrow."

We were very excited. A pool! Mineral Town had never had a pool before!

Later on, Karen wanted to get more intimate, but I refused. "I'm a bit tired," I explained. She understood, but what she didn't know was the real reason, a reason known both to you and I, unknown reader.

It'll be five in the evening in six minutes. Better put this manuscript away and hide it before the guard comes in. When he does come in, I'll still be writing, but not the story of my life. Instead I'll be writing a letter of complaint to the governor. The bread is too stale.

-------------------------------------------------------

As ever, please R&R!


	5. Explosives and the Goddess Festival

Karen Moondrop: Plausible, my dear Miss Moondrop? Perhaps; after all, there was something not quite _right_ about Rick in the game. ;)

Hay Lin rox: Er, it's not supposed to be funny. But I'm glad you enjoyed it. Thank you for your review.

Thanks for your reviews. Merry Christmas!

Chapter 5: Explosives on a Second Date and the Goddess Festival

It was the next morning. I opened a bleary eye. Both hunting rifles were propped up against the wall. I had forgotten to give it back to Uncle Freddy at the conclusion of the date last night. Never mind, there was still time…

Groaning, I got out of bed and got dressed. There were chores to do and Popuri to observe. It was six in the morning and the outside world looked cold and damp. However, there was breakfast to eat first.

Mother and Popuri were already downstairs; Mother was busy cooking me a full English and Popuri was eating cornflakes. She looked up at me and gave me another of her Oscar-worthy smiles before saying, "Morning Rick." I simply smiled back.

"Hello Rick," greeted Mother, giving me a smile, "I've nearly finished your breakfast, shouldn't be a minute. How was your date with Karen?"

"It was okay," I replied, sitting down at the table. Across from me, Popuri was giving me a strange smile and resting her head in her right hand, eating with her left hand, not taking her eyes off me. I smiled nervously. What was she up to?

I was soon to find out. As Mother laid my food in front of me; egg, sausage and beans, and I began to eat, Popuri flicked a cornflake at me, as soon as Mother's back was turned. In times past, I would have yelled at her for such an annoyance, but I could not bring myself to do such a thing this time. Instead I looked up at her. Half my vision was blocked; the offending flake had hit the left lens of my glasses. She was trying to stifle her giggling. I smiled and flicked a bean at her in return.

That started a tiny war of bean and cornflake-flicking that increased in intensity and speed; it was two flakes, two beans, then three flakes and three beans and so on. This culinary arms race came to a head when we were about to throw our plates and each other and let the nukes fly. It was at this point that Mother turned around and saw us. She shouted, "Look at you both, you're filthy! Get cleaned up!"

Laughing heartily, we both rushed up the stairs. I let Popuri use the bathroom first and sat down on a chair outside. I appreciated the healthy relationship I had with my sister. It was satisfying and no-one got hurt, which was a benefit to everyone. There the story might have ended.

But of course, nothing works out so well in real life, as I was to painfully discover. This prison uniform itches like a bastard.

After I got cleaned up, I went downstairs to finish what was left of my breakfast and then, picking up a bucket, I went outside.

My earlier prediction was fulfilled when I stepped out into the fog and could barely see the chicken coops. However, I braved my near blindness and began attending to the chickens. Halfway through my laborious task, my hand was touched briefly by someone who then whispered in my ear, "Look, try to get Mom to let you escort me to the Goddess Festival tomorrow."

I looked up and saw Popuri, staring at me with a determined look on her face. I melted.

"Okay," I assured her, "I will try."

Oh rapture! What saintly act had I done to warrant such reward? My love was asking me to escort her to the famed Festival! After my monotonous agreement, I happily went through the rest of my tasks, free of cares once again.

The rest of the day passed in idle pondering. Why was Popuri asking me to escort her on her first Festival? Did she love me more than was expected of her? I hoped so and feared so; hoped because my wild, forbidden admiration and love would be mutual; feared because of the implications of such feelings. Oh cruel world, you torture me with the finest pleasantries!

That evening I gained Mother's assent with ease. Her joints were stiffening up again due to the weather; that terrible, parasitic cancer had proved a temporary friend to poor Rick, mourning son and loving brother. Now tomorrow's promised ecstasies awaited. Oh, I could not sleep for excitement!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I woke up the next morning and thrust myself out of bed with the overwhelming power that anticipation brings. I washed and changed with lightning speed and rushed downstairs, tore through breakfast and waited outside, kicking a can, for my sister to get ready.

I must have been waiting about half an hour when the door opened and my Aphrodite emerged, clad in an emerald-green dress. Her feet were covered by gold-white shoes with diamonds on the ankles. Clasping her bosom was a gold star and the dress was brilliantly decorated with many kinds of flowers. She looked stunning, absolutely unbeatable.

"Well," Venus giggled, "What do you think?"

"Stunning," was all I could reply with.

She giggled and took my arm, "Shall we go?" I simply nodded my head, too happy to speak and we headed for the town square together. Mother saw us off with tears in her eyes; not being able to believe that her little girl had grown up. I certainly could.

As we walked along, I felt I had to ask the question that had been foremost in my mind since she had asked me to escort her.

"So, Popuri," I began, trying to hide my nervousness, "Why did you ask _me_ to escort you?"

And I heard it all. She loved me, she admitted, she had loved me since the day I had come back. She admired me and wanted to be near me always. I heard it all.

I heard it all in my mind. Nothing more.

"Oh, just because Mom can't make it," she replied cheerfully, "Besides, it'd be a bit wimpy to have your mom take you on your first festival, don't you agree?"

"Yes," I replied, deflating, "Yes I suppose so."

We reached the town square and saw all the assembled villagers. Four other girls were there; Karen, escorted by her hapless father; Ann, who the villagers call a tomboy and I call a psychopath; Mary, who I am sorry for; and Elli, who is too nice, too weak and too boring. It was at this point that Popuri disengaged herself from my loving arm, "I'll see you in a bit," she said, "Wish me luck!"

I wandered around the square, talking to the people who I had any respect for. This swiftly eliminated the three witches Manna, Sasha and Anna, who were vampires when it came to gossip. I talked to Doug, Saibara, Barley and Carter, four good men who I trusted. I also spoke briefly with Cliff, a strange, religious fellow, but decent enough I suppose. Out of the four girls, the only one I spoke to was Karen. She looked pretty in her dress (but a mere bar wench compared to glorious Popuri) and she said how embarrassed she was that her dad had escorted her instead of me (he had insisted on it, the good chap). She also asked me out on another date, which we decided would be at eight o'clock Friday night. It was then that the Mayor announced that the dance would begin.

Out of the five girls, only three were above average. Ann, being a tomboy, was not suited to a feminine dance. Mary read too much to practice. Elli was tolerable. Karen was pretty good; I had helped her practice a fair bit.

Popuri was absolutely brilliant. She may have been a below-average poultry farmer during my absence, but she had definitely not shirked dance lessons. She whirled through the dance routine like a professional. She was so graceful that she made all the others look like graceless chimpanzees and so unparalleled in beauty that she made them look like hippos. My joy and delight had reached a zenith; had broken through my desire. I had seen her in the form of a goddess and now nothing greater could be achieved. I was satisfied; I was convinced that my wants had been purged. All was right again and no-one had been hurt.

----------------------------------------------------------------

So why did this horrible state of events transpire, I hear my well-informed reader of the future ask? Why is it that you are in prison and possibly facing the death sentence for your horrific crimes, crimes which have brought the world's media to the walls of your penitentiary, you ask?

Well, the truth is that I thought I had been cleansed, but it was not so. By the evening, I felt a strange emptiness, dissatisfaction as I worked on my project for my date. I moped around the house, horribly depressed, only being temporarily satisfied by the sight of my darling. Whenever she left my sight, my stomach would gnaw at me and my heart would whimper, begging for me to lay eyes on her again, to sate myself for a moment longer. I realised that this could not go on. Something more had to be done and I needed to find out the lay of the land.

After a fitful sleep, I rose in the morning and attended to my duties as usual. After they were completed, I did something that I had never done before. I went to church to confess my sins.

I am not a religious man and I detest the idea of organized religion, which is simply a money-making scheme, but I needed badly to find out the general implications of what I was intending, since Mineral Town is, _was_, quite a religious community.

I walked nervously towards the church. It's not too late to turn back. I opened the creaky door. It's not too late to turn back. I walked up the aisle towards the confessional booth. It's not too late to turn back. I opened the booth door. It's not too late to – too late. I was already in and I could hear Pastor Carter breathing on the other side of the curtained hole.

"Forgive me Father, for I have come to confess my transgressions," I intoned in a quickly improvised accent. I shuddered mentally. God, it was so clichéd!

"What are your sins, my son?" droned Carter in a tone of complete and utter boredom. No doubt he thought it'd be something stupid like a grape had been filched from the overpriced Supermarket and that his trembling member of the flock would consider it their ticket to Hell.

"Well Father," I said slowly, then increasing quickly as I spewed out the great sin, "I am in love with the Goddess."

A huge spluttering and choking sound at the other end indicated that Carter had been enjoying his cigarette (most likely a joint of marijuana if I know my priests) and that I had taken all the joy out of it. A victory in the fight against Catholicism! Don't ask me why I said I loved the Goddess. Perhaps I used that excuse as a screen for my true love, who the previous day had been the Goddess in a festival. Psychiatrists would like me to think that. I don't care for them much either.

"W-w-well," stuttered the perplexed priest, "That is indeed q-q-quite a sin my son. A very bad sin, you could go to Hell for that."

"Advise me Father," I asked calmly, trying not to realise how my perverse, true love would send me to the ninth circle of the torturous underworld, "How should I repent?"

"Well," replied Carter, now composed, "I would advise that you project your love onto another and cherish her instead. Don't worry. The Goddess is touched and she forgives you."

"Thank you Father," I said, rolling my eyes. _The Goddess forgives me? How the bloody hell would he know that? Is she bloody in there with him, listening and giving him advice? _I snorted. _Typical know-it-all priest conning the common man!_

I exited the booth and walked out of the church. Behind me, I heard the pathetic wheeze of Carter as he tried to salvage what was left of his cigarette.

I considered my situation as I trudged into the square. Religion would not support my nefarious activities. I shrugged; I did not believe in religion. However, I damn well believed in the law and they would surely put me away if I was caught in some horrifying act with my love.

But perhaps there was a way around this problem. Carter had advised me to project my love onto another; Karen. She would suffice as a replacement for Popuri. If I truly focused all my efforts onto loving my blonde-haired beauty, then perhaps I could break free from the chains of torment and immorality. Yes, perhaps that was the answer!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hummed jovially as I combed my hair and grabbed the device I had constructed. Tonight would be a great date! It had been over a year since Karen and I had blown up one of these babies and I was definitely looking forward to doing it again.

Since we were ten years old, Karen and I had been blowing up makeshift bombs we made ourselves. Dear Uncle Freddy had taught us how to and was revered by us for making excellent ones himself. It was simply a hobby, nothing more.

This time, I met Karen at the field. She was also holding a bomb under her arm and grinning knowingly. She said, "Hey Rick, who do you think will win this time?"

"Me, as ever," I replied teasingly, "Yours are always crap!"

She laughed and hit me lightly. Then we set up the bombs in the usual way; placing them far from us and sinking them very slightly into the ground. Then we attached strings to the triggers and went as far back as the string would allow, which was quite far. We were all set.

I let Karen go first and she tugged on the string, shouting, "Fire in the hole!" I shook my head, bemused. Karen was funny like that.

Her bomb fizzled slightly and then exploded, causing a huge bang which echoed throughout the island. I then stepped up and, sensibly not saying anything, pulled the string. Mine caused a huge flash and a bang as well, shaking the ground ever so slightly.

"Well," said Karen cheerfully, "I think you've won again Rick!" I smiled. While Karen might be the better marksman, I was always the better bomb maker.

"Thanks," I replied, "but you're definitely catching up Karen. Keep working at it and we'll be equals soon."

We laughed and then sat on the fence, talking about old times and the future.

"Hey," said Karen, "remember when we were eight and we stole a bottle of wine from Duke's. Remember how pissed we got after just two glasses?"

I laughed, remembering how Karen, in her drunken state, had tried to shake hands with a tree. It was remembering times like these that suppressed my longing and increased my love and affinity for Karen. It was at this point that she sidled up to me and suggested we go somewhere more intimate. This time I agreed.

It is a remarkable thing how well Carter's advice worked, up to a point. What we did was very good, I have to admit. However, at one horrible, wonderful moment all changed. For a split second, it was not Karen in my sensual care, but Popuri. So good, so amazing was the feeling that I tried to hold on to that feeling. It was astounding, absolutely exceptional; and that was with Karen. Imagine what the genuine article would be like! But for now, Karen would make an excellent stand-in for Popuri and rein in my evil desire.

I only hoped it would last.


	6. The Accident

Hay Lin rox: Ah, I see. Well, laugh away and enjoy!

TygerEyes 1.0: Yes, well I could see why some people would be upset by that. But, like you said, it's only a story. Thank you for your review.

StarrNight: Thank you most kindly! What's really bizarre is that my teacher insists on loads of description in an essay! I mean, how does that work and what purpose does it serve? Yes, the plot is disturbing, but I'm glad that you enjoy the way it's written. After all, that's half the story. I'd be honoured to accept your request and review your stories, since they look very interesting and are well-written (love Season of Love by the way!).

Young Wizard Link: No problem my friend. I always like to help my readers out if I can.

As ever, onwards!

Chapter 6: The Accident

The situation continued for two happy months. Every Friday I would go out with Karen and we would do various activities; be it fishing, shooting or bombing. Afterwards, there would be the regular period of intimacy; oh how Karen-Popuri (as I always thought of my unknowing partner as) reined in my immoral lust! All was safe and good and would continue uninterrupted from the end of March to the end of May 2003. What a happy time that was! However, on 21st May (I remember the date because it was two days before I began my diary, a timeless account of the early zenith of my life; ah Popuri, what joy you brought your poor, doomed Rick!), something that would forever change my, Popuri, Karen and the rest of Mineral Town's lives forever.

21st May was a Wednesday. Karen had changed the day for our date for one week because her father was having a party and Karen was going to serve the drinks. As usual, we got our homemade bombs out and planted them in the ground. However, this time something went wrong.

We had agreed that I would blow up my bomb first. As we stepped back, I thought I saw out of the corner of my eye Karen pull on the string hard; perhaps it was an optical illusion. However, at the time, I thought that Karen was "cheating". As I turned around to say, "Hey, what are you doing?" I pulled hard on the string and a red-hot shard of pain blasted me.

Screaming, I collapsed, not knowing what had happened to me. It was absolute agony. Karen shouted in shock, "Oh my God! Hold on a minute!" She ran off and I slipped into unknowing darkness.

I returned to consciousness about two minutes later to hear Karen's voice, who was crouching above me, saying, "It's okay Rick, Uncle Freddy's phoning the Doctor. He'll be along shortly." I simply moaned in reply and she cradled me in her arms, whispering soothingly, "It's okay, it's okay, I'm here." Then I blacked out again.

When I came to, I was in an unfamiliar place filled with a sterile, medical-white light which was shining directly above me. I was laid out on a table and I could see Nurse Elli hovering over me, wearing a white mask and saying, "It's alright Rick. You've just got a shard of metal in the side of your right leg. We're going to get it out."

Delirious with pain, I simply giggled, "_We?_ There're more docs coming? Hey, get Hawkeye and Trapper to do it. I'm sure they'll do a _swell_ job!"

Then I vaguely heard Elli whispering to the Doctor (Doctor Tim, blast him, not my television heroes!), "You're right, Doctor, he is in a delirium. Perhaps the shard could have infected him?"

I didn't hear the Doctor's reply. Elli came over and said, "Okay Rick, we're going to start now. Count backwards from twenty."

Ah, the old procedure. I always wanted to stay awake until the twenty seconds were up and see what happened. Most likely it would end painfully. Oh well; twenty, nineteen…eighteen…seven…teen…

--------------------------------------------------------------------

I had a strange dream during my voyage under the surgeon's knife. I was in a sunny meadow and walking along the river. Suddenly, a beautiful green woman rose out of the waves and cursed me for my insolence. She attacked me with a single silver beam which transformed me into a frog. But along came Popuri and with a single heavenly kiss turned me into a handsome prince. And in a flash, Carter gave a wheezing cough and Karen clapped and exploded and Popuri smiled knowingly and then there was darkness and the sound of voices.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing I heard upon returning to this world was the sound of a voice squealing, "_Oh my God! He's alive!_"

My initial thought was _Of course I'm alive you stupid woman. It's only a bloody splinter in my leg!_ But then as I opened my eyes, I realised it was Popuri who had said that and I decided not to voice my thoughts. She launched herself upon me and drowned me in a barrage of kisses.

"Oh, I'm happy you're alive!" she squealed far too close to my ear.

"Popuri," said a kindly voice that I immediately recognized as dear Mother's, "It was only a shard of metal in his leg. Nasty, but not fatal." I was pleased someone else had pointed that out.

After Popuri disengaged herself from me (ah, such happiness!), it was Mother's turn to give me a loving hug and kiss and say, "I'm glad you're alright Rick."

And then there was Karen who kissed me and said, "It's good to have you back Rick. How do you feel?"

"Alright, I guess," I muttered, "My leg hurts a bit though." I noticed it was swathed in bandages. It was at this point that the Doctor came in.

"Hello everyone," he said kindly, clapping his hands together, "Ah, Rick! I see you're awake. How do you feel?"

"My leg aches," I replied.

"Yes, I suppose it would," he replied, "Well, I'm going to prescribe you one jar of Bodigizer per day and order you not to move that leg for four weeks. But you can go home now if you like."

"Bodigizer?" asked Mother, alarmed at the cost.

"Don't worry Lillia," smiled the Doctor, "It's free of charge this time."

"Oh thank you," replied Mother gratefully.

"That's quite alright my dear," said the Doctor, "Now you must all go. Rick will be discharged in a couple of hours."

Everyone got up to leave. As they were exiting, the Doctor said, deliberately loudly, "Don't blow up bombs again Rick! It's very dangerous!"

He quickly looked to make sure they were gone and continued in a whisper, "Actually, do. I need quite a few fireworks for Guy Fawkes' Night. If you make them for me, I won't press the Bodigizer bill."

I smiled. Ah, doctors! Not so perfect after all! "Okay," I said, "I'll get them for you. How many?"

"Fifty please," replied the Doctor.

Hmm, quite an assignment.

---------------------------------------------------------------

I left the hospital that lunchtime and the Doctor took me home in a wheelchair, which he said I could keep for now. Everyone was very pleased to see me at home; Karen and Uncle Freddy were there as well. The Doctor and Freddy helped me upstairs and into bed. Popuri and Karen followed behind them, helping Mother upstairs. Soon, all were gathered around my bed.

"Who will look after him?" asked Mother, raising an important question, "I can't get upstairs easily and Popuri will have to take over Rick's tasks."

"I can do it Mother," retorted Popuri, "It wouldn't be too much trouble."

_Yes, yes, oh yes!_ I thought. _Thank you God! Thank you, thank you, thank you for blowing me up!_

"I can always help with Rick's tasks," added Karen, "If the party goes well, Dad's going to give me a couple of weeks off.

"And of course I'll always help out in any way I can," promised Uncle Freddy.

"Well, okay," conceded Mother, "but it'll be very difficult, Popuri."

"She's right," added the Doctor, "You'll have to attend to all his needs."

_And what "needs" I have_, I thought disgustingly.

"That's okay," replied the bubbly beauty, "If Karen and Uncle Freddy are helping, then I can manage!"

What joy! What unrivalled, unparalleled joy! To be completely in the care of my beloved, to have her accede to my every whim; perfection! I made a mental note to injure myself more horribly next time, since these were the benefits available.

The Doctor had begun discussing the details of my care with Mother. I did not pay attention, as I was lying back and contemplating the summer ahead. It seemed like it would be the best one yet.


	7. Summer 2003: Part 1

TygerEyes 1.0: I'm glad you're enjoying it. Let's only hope Rick doesn't hurt himself again!

Kelley28: I believe there's no such thing as rambling if it helps me realise something. Description is the one thing I've been worrying about: am I putting too much in, am I putting too little in? I think you're right that a short amount of description is best. Thank you!

Nirak: Ah, thank you very much!

StarrNight: _Creepingly enchanting?_ Love that phrase. RickxElli, you say? Gosh, I hate Elli. Like Rick says, "_Too nice, too weak and too boring_." Or words to that effect. Thank you once again and I promise I'll review your Season of Love (which is very, very good!).

What I'm surprised about is that no-one noticed the M.A.S.H reference (or at least mentioned it)!

Onwards!

Chapter 7: Summer 2003: Part 1

One of the few items I was allowed to keep on entering the prison was my diary. I have not written in it for several years, but it is of sentimental value. When times are particularly bad, I read and reflect on what once was and never shall be again. I shall direct your attention, distant and mysterious reader, to its very first pages from the 23rd May through the next two weeks.

_Friday 23rd May 2003_

Mother got me a diary to record the events of my recovery. What could I possibly want to remember about my injury? Instead, I shall use it as a blueprint for my ultimate goal, pink-sweet Popuri.

Nothing much of interest in regards to the girl today; delivery men were here setting up a television in my room. Should be of some interest. Jeff's party today. I wonder how Karen is doing. The party means that Popuri is in the chicken coops all day. I am watching a comedy show. It is very bad.

_Saturday 24th May 2003_

Popuri brought me my breakfast in the morning and then got into bed with me (glory!). We watched television together for a while. As we did so, my arm went around her shoulders in a miserable attempt to draw her closer to me. All I got was her lustrous hair spilling onto me like a waterfall of eternal youth. While that is not bad, I could not survive without the feel of her beautiful head on my caring shoulder.

"Oh look," she said with interest, pointing at the screen, "It's about that serial killer!"

"_The Miami Ripper has struck again!_" droned the news reporter, _"This is the sixth victim in two months and women everywhere are terrified._"

I had vaguely heard of a serial killer in Miami, but had not paid it much attention. That is mainland business and has nothing to do with us.

"Oh, Rick," gasped Popuri in that adorable way that seems melodramatic, yet is utterly real, "What if the Ripper comes here?"

"Popuri!" I laughed, taking her hand, "If a serial killer ever came here, we'd know. You can tell a serial killer from a mile away! So don't worry."

That seemed to placate her. Later on, I watched another comedy show. This one was far better.

_Monday 26th May 2003_

Karen came to see me today. Apparently the party was a success. At least the part she could remember. She wheeled me out of the house and took me over to see Uncle Freddy.

"Hey hey!" exclaimed the grand old man when he saw me, "It's Rick! How are you son?"

"Alright thanks," I replied smiling. Freddy directed us to where the pool was. It rose out of the ground like a square, aqua shell. The stairs were painted a sandy yellow and to the side of them I could see Gotz hammering in a rogue nail.

"There we are Mister West," said the bearded woodcutter, standing back to admire his work. He turned and saw me and Karen. "Ah!" he smiled, shaking my hand, "Hello Mister Kinsey; how is your leg today? Better? Ah, that's good. And of course, Miss Chaeter; how is the Supermarket?"

"Very well thank you Mister Gotz," replied Karen cheerfully.

"Good," replied the warm man, "Well, must be going. See you later kids, and Mister West of course!" He strode away, whistling a happy tune.

I asked Karen whether her last name was French. She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Who knows? All I was told is that your last name reflects your personality in some way."

I smiled and lay back in my chair. At that time, a familiar voice, with the sweetness of chocolate and the desirability of a goddess shouted from behind the pool, "Uncle Freddy, I've done! Come and take a look!"

The three of us went round the back of the pool and there stood my positively perfect Picasso, wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, holding a paintbrush and surrounded by many pots of paint. "Oh hey Rick and Karen," she said with surprise, "Check out what I've been doing!"

"Hey," I asked, my old Popuri-criticizing self coming out of a long retirement briefly, "Shouldn't you be attending to the chickens?"

"Did all that," she replied with a hint of smugness, "So I came down here and painted this for the pool. Doesn't it look cool?"

I had to admit, it was very good. She had painted a tropical scene with sandy beaches, curvy waves, tall trees with big, rounded, ripe fruits, ready for plucking for the hungry traveller. I smiled and said, "Excellent!" The others agreed with me. Popuri was very happy.

I look forward to the opening of the pool and the Doctor agrees with me. He thinks that if I start swimming after my bandages are taken off, it might help me regain the strength in my leg faster. Not to mention that Popuri will be there as well. Oh, expectations!

_Thursday 29th May 2003_

Even as I write this, I am still thinking about what happened. Damn it! I cannot _believe_ that happened! Curses! How can life be so cruel?

It was a regular day. Mother had gone to see the Doctor to pick up her medicine and mine and then go see Sasha, Karen's mom. I had slept in until one-thirty in the afternoon, when Popuri woke me up by coming in and saying loudly, "Rise and shine Rick!" I opened my eyes and saw pristine Popuri, my florid Florence Nightingale, shaking my shoulders with her fair hands. She was wearing another white t-shirt and slacks.

"Hello," I said weakly.

"Hi," she replied, a lock of her glimmering hair briefly covering her face before she pushed it away. Smiling, she said, "Is there anything you (and I must admit, I myself have accentuated the following word) _want_ me for?"

"Yes," I burbled.

"What is that?" she whispered.

"You," I replied without thinking.

"What?"

"A _view_," I quickly corrected, "It is took dark in here." Ha, they did not call me Quick Rick for nothing, my admiring peers!

"Okay!" she exclaimed cheerfully. She ran to the window and flung the curtains open. A flash of light scorched my eyes briefly and then the radiance of the sun was replaced by the radiance of my golden angel.

"There!" she smiled, "That's better, isn't it?"

"Much better," I replied. It was this point that she sat down beside me on the bed and asked, "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Give me a minute to think," I replied.

A moment passed and then she closed her eyes. She began singing a song that was popular at the time in a clear, musical voice, "_Ohh, I am so crazy/And I've been waiting for you/Forever now and I want/You to know that I love you…_"

Then, to my surprise, she slipped her hand into mine and squeezed it tight. I stared in shock at it, yet I was definitely not going to protest it. Her hand was soft and clean and her nails glittered in the sunlight. She was singing loud and heartily, yet delicately and pleasantly as well. Her gleaming hair was like a ruby waterfall, her face well-structured; the classical image of beauty. Her bosom was ample and well-shaped and she was slender; not horribly thin, yet definitely not showing a rebellious, unseemly gut. Her arms were thin and beginning to show the effects of the young summer. All-in-all, perfection. Venus herself could not compare with pleasing, poignant, precious Popuri; the girl who would giggle at the crude joke and yet sit sombrely at the glowing river near the hot springs during the crystalline night, pondering the universe and all that there was.

This was the time, I realised. It was now or never! But, like a careful bather, I had to test the waters first. I stroked her hand with my thumb. Hark! She noticed not! I felt bolder and, disengaging my hand from hers, began moving it up her arm. Still she did not stir. Now my hand made a leap for her shoulder and took it sensually. What was going on? She did not reply, she was not repulsed; how could this be? Never mind!

Drunk with the courage of the gods, I prepared myself for the final onslaught. And suddenly I entered that golden realm; that state of happiness where nothing matters. I was above the retribution of the world, of the religious who howled and cursed behind their commandments, beyond the volleys of the conformists, who were afraid of the unorthodox. Now I was a radiant, robust god who was now reaping the rewards of his sensual suffering and ready to rip his prize out of the grasping claws of the fearful society. One kiss from my Helen, and this Paris would ascend the plains of ecstasies forever.

By this time I had my left arm around her shoulder, my right arm around her stomach and my rejoicing eyes were surveying their objective. Her rouge lips were still forming the words of that great song and her tongue was still cranking out the musical words.

"_How long I have waited for you, my… _(And I can only speculate what the last word she said was. Perhaps it was Cly (we loved that show, she secretly had a crush on old Cly; or perhaps it was fly? God knows with women. What was almost certain was that she probably thought I was the overpaid crooner who sang the song. Precocious Popuri always delved deep into her imagination and found it very hard on occasion to disentangle it from reality. Excellent for me!)

I could wait no longer. My emotional rocket was thundering into the skies of passion. One kiss would be enough to propel it into the stratosphere of happiness and then fall to earth; to hell with the consequences. My lips formed the required shape and I swooped –

The doorbell went and I returned to my previous position in a split second. Popuri rushed downstairs and got the door. From the annoying voice below, I discerned it was Ann. God damn and blast her! May she be obliterated from the earth with the pain of a hundred thousand firestorms! Curse and damn her for ruining my perfect moment!

Then my rage turned to fear. What if Popuri had realised it was me and was already running to the Mayor to demand I be arrested. To die and never achieve my goal, that would be the worst thing of all!

But I heard her bounding up the steps and run into my room. She said, "Hey, Rick, I gotta go now. Ann and I are going to the hot springs. See you later!"

She ran back downstairs and slammed the door. I was left alone in the house to ponder what had happened.

Ann, that red-haired psychopath, had stolen from me my lotus fruit. This would not be tolerated! But the chance was lost for now and nothing could be done about that. The good thing was that Popuri had not noticed and further opportunities in the future would be available.

I sighed. At least summer was coming. Kai would return and that meant that the three of us would lock ourselves up in his shack and toast the past and future, leave the outside world behind us and watch time go by. We could be left alone to our hopes, dreams and plans. And I would have plenty of each.


	8. Summer 2003: Part 2

Thank you once again my dear reviewers. I apologize for the delay, but I have had a creative dry spell for a while and have not been able to formulate the new chapter. But it's all good now, so onwards!

Awesome Rapidash: I thank you for your praise. Also, in regards to the reference, I haven't met BJ yet, so Trapper was the only option. Thanks again.

Hay Lin rox: Actually, they didn't kiss. Rick was thwarted in his efforts by Ann knocking on the door. Thanks for reviewing.

Karen Moondrop: No need to apologize. Only Bond could compare, you say? Very high praise; thank you!

Chapter 8: Summer 2003: Part 2

_Sunday 1st June 2003_

As we had done for many previous years, Popuri and I ran to the beach to greet Kai. Well, I say we ran; actually she pushed me on my sadly squeaking wheelchair to the beach and then, when she saw the man himself, ran ahead, squealing in delight, to hug him, leaving poor Rick to pull himself slowly across the unforgiving terrain.

Kai is a miracle of manhood. With his perfectly formed arms and shoulders, his well-crafted chest and his impeccable stomach complementing his finely tuned legs, he is a true Adonis. He also resembles a pirate with his purple bandana and ragged clothes, with a white, open shirt and gleaming gold rings adorning his fingers. But not only is he perfect in regard to his physical attributes; he is also one of the nicest people I have ever met. A friendly wave and a glimmering grin is his trademark greeting and no-one who has been hit by it has ever forgotten it.

After hugging Popuri, the good fellow ran over to me and hauled my wheelchair, complete with complaining cripple, out of the sand and onto the safe, sturdy wooden promenade.

When we were all safely inside Kai's dark, yet airy Snack Shack (an amusing example of alliteration), the good Samaritan provided us with cool grape juice and sat down on a chair, with Popuri hugging my arm, clinging to me, as if too shy to edge closer to our friend.

"So, what's been goin' on in these parts while I been away?" he asked in his charming way of decimating the English language.

"Not much," I replied, while wishing to sing out that much had changed and all for the better and that I possessed a veritable nymph in my blessed arms, but I knew that such a revealing monologue would not impress Kai and I am sure that Popuri would receive the news with even less enthusiasm. So reluctant Rick kept his mellow mouth silently shut and serenely smiled while Popuri added lightly, "Just one thing; Uncle Freddy is building a pool in his garden? Isn't that sweet?"

Ah Popuri, how your slang rouses my mind and touches my body! It is crude, yet appealing! As the feisty maiden relinquished her grip on my arm and began conversing with Kai, I slipped into a half-dream in which my Florence is attending to all my needs. It is becoming increasingly common and I fear that something inhuman may occur, something terrible and unsanctioned by civilized society. Oh, tormenting demons that surround me; why must you torture me so?

_Wednesday 10th June 2003_

My leg is now so unpleasant to the nasal region that my nirvanic nurse no longer stays with me after helping me downstairs. Thank the good Lord that today is the day that the cast is removed. Farewell to the vicious stench of unclean skin and rotting bandages. Today, the artificial, clinical cast will be removed and nature will reclaim Rick's lower-right limb. Salvation! The only problem is that now Popuri will no longer have to attend to my every need. This must be corrected sometime, if I am not to go absolutely crazy. Perhaps I can sacrifice a foot or a hand in order to be waited on for even longer… but no, that is foolishness. After all, Karen has been an excellent filter for my impure passions. Why can this not continue?

Later: The cast is removed. How strange it feels to be able to walk again. Although I feel released physically, emotionally I am now caged in. When will I ever get a chance to be so near my seductive sibling again? Never mind, this ground has been covered earlier. I have decided to continue with this diary in order to further chart the course of this snaking craving.

_Thursday 11th June 2003_

I went to the pool today. The doctor ordered me to do so in order that the strength in my renewed limb might be revived quicker. I would have gone anyway. Popuri has decided to frequent the man-made oasis as well. How fetching she looks in her black swimsuit! Kai was there as well and he swam one hundred and forty lengths in thirty minutes! Impressive! Yet, I feel that not is all right with Kai. Perhaps it was the way he looked at my sister…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I feel an explanation is needed in order to explain the next date. Sometime around the end of June, I saw something which caused me to rip several pages out of my diary in a hellish rage, although it was a silent fire that burned within me, for no matter how hot the flames roared, I could not risk my terrible secret being known.

_Saturday 27th June 2003_

I won't say I hate my life, but, dear diary, I don't like it very much. I am going nowhere in life, nowhere at all. In all probability, I will die on this island, and I will never be remembered for anything. All those marvellous creations and ideas I thought up in my childhood will die with me and my legacy will be a simple tombstone in the graveyard stating: RICK KINSEY: 1985 – 2063: DEARLY MISSED.

Why am I so depressed I hear you ask, you inanimate, unquestioning book? This morning, as I went down to the beach to initiate another instalment of "The Adventures of Rick, Kai and Popuri" (notice how Kai has come between us?) I saw the most awful thing ever. Kai, that bronzed, thuggish anarchist, was battling tongues with my sister!

Not staying further to view this horror, I rushed back here and proceeded to bury my face in my pillow, in order to mute the scream of blue murder that blasted from my throat.

After a mug of cold tea, cooled by the time I spent plotting to cancel Kai from the romantic equation that was developing, I finally came to a conclusion. Kai had better leave the land of Mineral Town promptly, before a tire iron and a murderous intent forces him from the land of the living.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It is nine o'clock and my guard informs me that I will now be proceeding to the courtroom to begin my trial. The death penalty is still on the table.


	9. War and Peace

VarekaiSoleil: Thank you for your kind words. As I have said, a creativity drought prevented me from writing any further chapters. I had trouble with the diary bits; I felt there would be too many, so I cut it short with Rick ripping out the pages. Lazy, but effective! ;)

kelley28: I certainly am back and bouncing with yet another chapter! Still, exams drag me down. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

StarrNight: Hopefully this chapter will make it more apparent. Thanks for your support and good luck with your stories, I enjoy reading 'em!

1angelette: Ah, a new reader! I'm glad you're enjoying it and thanks for the review. I hope you like this new chapter.

I'm lost…: No, it's not me who is going to jail…although I almost certainly WILL one day! ;) It's Rick and message me if you're a bit confused, I'd be happy to help you out.

Hay Lin rox: I've been thinking about your comments and I too can see a disturbing level of connection with the real game. Perverts at Natsume…;)

Chapter 9: War and Peace

The world's press are gathered in the courtroom. All this for me, a chicken farmer's son; I feel like saying, "Gee, well golly sirs, I may just be a maximum-security prisoner from little ol' Mineral Town…" Yeah right.

The judge is a feeble-looking old man whose only difference from a desecrated corpse is his ability to sentence criminals and make one word decisions. My lawyer is a Woody Allen look-alike, sans the snivelling and stuttering. He is a great orator with a masterful grasp of the legal system. The prosecutor gives off a KGB aura and intimidates his witnesses (or more accurately victims) by penetrating them with an icy blue glare and a low, menacing growl for a voice. His knowledge of law is equally proficient and a titanic clash between the two lawyers seems inevitable, which is an additional treat for the already spoiled media.

Today was my turn to be the sacrificial lamb for the prosecutor. After I took the oath (no point in lying for me), the prosecutor's opening salvo was fast and hard-hitting.

"When did the initial thoughts of your first crime become apparent?" he snapped frostily.

----------------------------------------------

"When did you first think of me...er, you know…like _that_?" asked Karen, blushing as she asked the question.

I swallowed my mouthful of coffee and looked out across the bay. The sea lapped the shore lovingly and the gulls rode the warm waves of wind up towards an endless blue sky. The world was perfect and I was beginning to forget pink Aphrodite's captivating graces that had enraptured me so.

"When we were six," I answered out of the blue, "New Year's Eve 1991. You probably don't remember, but when midnight came, you gave me a kiss. On my part, it was love forever from that moment."

"Really?" gasped Karen, barely able to stifle her giggles.

No, not really my blonde friend; to be honest, I _never _really thought of you in that way. You were my best friend, you always will be, but you were never anything more than that. Perhaps it's because I never gave you a fair chance, but I guess we'll never know now, eh? Why the date? I always use 1991/1992 whenever I need to shove some nice lies into the past somewhere. Perhaps that is because, from what I remember, I only had good memories of those years. No horrible infatuation with a sibling, no lies to the ones you love, no ghosts haunting you for all eternity and beyond.

"Yes, really," I lied, turning back and smiling, "You caught me then Karen, and you still have me in your net today."

July had started off with a heat wave; quite fitting considering my raging inferno of anger, but, like my temper, it gradually subsided into a pleasant, temperate state. Karen had played a great role in stabilising me, taking me out places and doing new things. Our bond was getting closer and closer, and there was gossip among the more talkative elements of the town (i.e. Manna) that soon there would soon be wedding bells ringing throughout Mineral Town. One wonders how she came by that information, especially since the main actors themselves had not mentioned anything about holy matrimony.

Still, rumours are there to spice up people's lives and so I had no qualms with letting them float around for a while, especially since I didn't want any attention with the _other_ matter, which was, praise the Lord, still as secret and distant as the far corners of the universe.

Karen on the other hand hated this exposure and gossip and did everything possible to reject it. Still, she stayed with me through all of it (you really were too good for me Karen, I'm really sorry you got caught up in what happened) and thus actually propagated the rumours to some extent. This irony was lost on her, but I doubt she would have cared anyway.

"So," started Karen as she swallowed the last mouthful of coffee and called for the bill, "do you still want to come with me to the anti-Iraq war demonstration in Richmond?"

To be honest, I had never cared much about the war that was raging in Iraq, either then or today. No, perhaps that's wrong; today I care more, but only because following it is one of the only occupations one can follow here. Still, Karen was a passionate anti-war personality and I did not want to discourage her from this. Protesting was a noble and loyal act to this country and its Founding Fathers, who had been protestors themselves.

But why did the protest have to be on the fourth of July? That was one of the best days of the year for Mineral Town, due to its fantastic fireworks display. I could not miss it, especially not because of some demonstration I did not care for.

"Yeah, alright," I conceded, the cogs and wheels of my cunning mind already turning, formulating a plan that would get me out of this.

"Oh, thank you Rick," she said happily, leaning over to kiss me. Cliff, the waiter, then arrived and Karen paid the bill. I explained that I would stay to finish my coffee. She accepted that explanation and walked off, back to the Supermarket.

I called Cliff over, indicating him with my index finger in a "come hither" movement. The young man acceded and shuffled over to me uncertainly.

"More coffee Mr. Kinsey?" he asked, lifting up the jug of steaming hot coffee.

"No thank you," I replied kindly, "Oh, it's Rick. I hate titles. No, my friend Cliff, I have a proposal for you."

"Oh?" asked Cliff, setting the jug down.

"What's your opinion on the Iraq war?" I asked, beginning my slow, loving slip into the mud bath of intrigue.

Cliff pounded his fist on the table, causing the mugs to rattle, crying "It's outrageous! All those lives wasted so our damn President can get his precious oil! Why, if I ever met him, the first thing I'd do to him-"

"Yes, yes, okay," I replied, calming him with a raised hand. _Excellent,_ I thought, before continuing, "Well, there's an anti-war demonstration tomorrow in Golden City. Karen and I are going, but I was just wondering whether you'd want to come along and protest with us?"

"I'd love to," accepted Cliff immediately, "It'd be a good chance to show Washington what people _really_ think."

_Good luck there_, I thought cynically.

After leaving the new outside eating area Doug had built, I wandered back along the pathway towards my house. As I passed by, I saw Barley attending to his cows; May and Stu playing with the sheep; Gray and Mary rapt in conversation as they passed by me; signs of everyone enjoying their peaceful lives. I was not blessed with the same gift, no indeed. My internal war was beginning to violate the border with the outside world; a stray bomb manifesting itself as a nervous tic and a particularly violent clash publicly showing itself as incoherent muttering. Mother had been asking whether I was feeling well, but I always evaded the question.

Curse that Kai! That thuggish Philistine was encroaching upon my darling sister! I could not let that be! Who knew what he might try if I left the island? As long as that mud-hued knave resided on our shores which were already raped by his presence, I could not leave, even for a day. But I could think of no way to finish the plan that I had started with the acquisition of Cliff to the peace movement.

However, a flash of inspiration struck me. Why _would_ Kai try anything? Popuri was a fairly intelligent girl, and unlikely to go…_there_ with him. Why should she do anything she didn't want to do? It's not like she was going to the Fourth of July Fireworks Evening with him…

"_Rick_!" squealed a familiar voice excitedly.

I looked up and saw Popuri, radiating happiness and joy, bounding over to me. I smiled.

"Hello," I greeted, "What's up? You seem very cheerful about something."

"You'll never guess what just happened," the princess of my heart said, barely able to suppress her smile, "but Kai just asked me to the Fireworks Display tomorrow evening! Isn't that so cool?"

"Yes, I suppose it is," I replied, ice-cold permafrost of lividness protecting the hellfire of rage that flared once more inside me.

"Well, see you later!" she bubbled, "I'm gonna go and hang out with Ann for a while."

I stood rigid with rage for quite a long time after she left and then suddenly the fire burst forth and I screamed abuse at anything, everything, the whole damn universe, for as long as my lungs could sustain me. No! How could she fall for that athletic, uncultured brute?

I feigned illness when I got home. Mother phoned to inform Karen that I might not be able to make it to the anti-war rally the next day.

The only other thing of interest that occurred that day was that CNN reported that the Miami Ripper had possibly moved north, finally reaching Virginia, thanks to the evidence of many similar killings. _Hmm_, I thought, _a killer in our own state. Perhaps I can get him to kill Kai for me?_

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The prosecutor talked about the charge of attempted murder that was on my head. Pure rubbish of course; not the charge, but that fact that he calls himself a prosecutor! Now, if I were doing it…rats, it's tea-time. Which psychopath will I get as my lunch buddy today?


	10. The Fourth of July Beach Party

Vook: You're not the first person to bring this up. I agree wholeheartedly with you that this is not like Rick as we know him. However, there is an explanation for that. It takes place a few years later, when he is more mature (and besides, in prison, he read a lot of books to pass the time, which increased his vocabulary significantly) and later on in the story, he begins to read almost obsessively at the Library to get his mind off Popuri. Hope that makes everything slightly more logical. Thank you for your review and I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

kelley28: Hahahaha thanks very much. I'm glad to be back as well! Enjoy your game.

StarrNight: Thanks very much. Yes, Rick is fairly violent in nature, although not necessarily physically, but he is definitely unstable and people who cross him may end up harmed. Thanks and I must definitely review your fine work very soon!

gothangel12345: Welcome, it's always nice to have a new reviewer. Thanks for reading and I totally agree with you about Rick's sanity slowly escaping. In answer to your question, Rick is in his early twenties (20-22, not exactly sure yet) when he is in prison and he is currently 17 at this point.

Rachism17: Thank you very much. Hopefully this chapter will be nice and long enough for you!

VarekaiSoleil: Thank you most kindly. Sorry it's taken so long, but I had writer's block.

Niraak: It's wonderful to have your support my friend. Hopefully you enjoy this next instalment.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 10: The Fourth of July Beach Party

I lay there, shrouded in darkness, waiting with Mother for the thermometer to give its results. Next door the radio suddenly blared into life; Popuri was up.

"_Well folks_," crackled the host of some show or other, "_It's the Fourth of July again and God bless America on its two-hundred and twenty-seventh birthday. I think we can all say…_"

"Good Lord, Rick," gasped Mother as she pulled out the thermometer and examined it, "You've got such a fever! You're definitely not going anywhere today."

"Oh rats," I complained, quite effectively, trying to hold back a great grin, "I guess I can't go to the rally."

"No sir," agreed my deceived mother, standing up and leaving the room, turning only to add, "You get some rest and perhaps you'll feel well enough later to go to the beach party. You know, they'll be having a really big fireworks event in Virginia Beach and we'll probably be able to see it from here."

"That's great." I replied weakly, "Let's just hope I'm well by then."

Mother smiled and then left, shutting the door behind her. I pulled out the steaming hot-water bottle and threw it as far away from the bed as I could. That rubber fiend had burned me badly! But it had been worth it. Now I could keep an eye on that rogue who had snatched my sister.

As I lay back and plotted to separate the two during the party, I could hear the patriotic chants of, "_U-S-A! U-S-A!_" from some overgrown boys outside; most likely the cheerfully aggressive triumvirate of Freddy, Duke and Doug, who barely said anything else every Fourth of July. Saibara was usually part of this patriotic band, but I had heard that he had taken on an apprentice and had not ventured out as much.

Laughing at the youthful loyalty of these men, I fell asleep and dreamed of a grand rescue of Popuri, ridding the town, nay, the world, of Kai forever. But I must not say too much.

Popuri of all people awoke me in the late afternoon, around four or five pm. The window was open and the hot, sticky wind, smelling of barbecue and nationalism, blew the curtains lazily. It was a glorious sunset that shone upon us, anticipating the night of celebration ahead.

"Are you feeling better Ricky?" asked Popuri and without waiting for an answer, pressed her lips against my forehead. My soul fluttered within me.

"Hmm," she mused, partly to herself, "Your fever's gone. That's good!"

She skipped out of the room and down the stairs, leaving me admiring her innocence, and yet cursing it at the same time. Her naivety was most frustrating when it came to the scurvy seaman. How could she not see him for what he truly was? Never mind, for that night all would change; or at least that's what I believed.

I got out of bed, my joints, stiff thanks to my long nap, creaking terribly. I paced out of the room and down the stairs, not bothering to change. Mother was finishing her latest batch of grilled corn on the cob and placing it next to her six other trays, while Popuri was gazing at them hungrily. I smiled. Popuri had always loved her corn on the cob.

As I slipped into a chair, Popuri began whining hungrily, "Mom, can I _pleeeeeeease_ just have one?"

"No Popuri," replied our mother, pulling off her browned oven gloves and opening the fridge door, "Once you eat one, you can't stop yourself!"

I chuckled. How true it was. Turning around, presumably because she heard my laugh, Mother looked at me and said, "Oh Rick, you're up. Are you feeling better now?"

"Much better," I replied, both truthfully and falsely at the same time, "Does that mean I can go to the beach party?"

"Of course!" she laughed, "I said so, didn't I? Popuri, leave those _alone_!" She slapped at my sister's naughty hand as she cunningly leapt for some corn-on-the-cob whilst the guardian had slipped momentarily. After being discovered, the ravishing rascal escaped upstairs, giggling fit to burst.

After a light breakfast, I washed and dressed. After this, I decided to go out and see how the preparations for the beach party were going. However, before I had even begun striding towards the door, a knock on it brought me over for a very different reason.

When I answered the door, I found that it was none other than Ann, Doug's daughter, who was calling at our abode.

"Um," she began hesitantly, "Hi."

"Hello Ann," I replied crisply, "I'll go and get Popuri for you."

"No!" she said quickly, placing her hand sharply on my wrist, which was holding the door open, "Actually Rick…it's you I've come to see."

"Oh?" I inquired, intrigued, "Well, what can I do for you Ann?"

"Weeeeell," she began slowly, looking sheepishly at her feet and rubbing her lace-white and boy-red trainer-clad left foot into the ground, trying to wipe out her embarrassment, "I was just wondering…since Karen isn't here and, uh, neither is Cliff… I was, uh, just wondering you know, if – if you'd like to go to the beach party with me? Just as a friend of course," she added hastily. I smiled. I barely knew Ann, and she knew very little of me also.

I quickly summarised the benefits of such a partnership. I would be able to keep an eye on Popuri and her brutish suitor from close quarters, especially during the dance that took place during each and every annual beach party. Ann would also talk a lot with Popuri, seeing as how they were best friends, and it would not be unusual for their partners to be with them during the conversation, allowing me to further survey any would-be advances by Kai. Finally, Ann was a fairly fun person to be around and it would be no punishment on myself to take her as my lady for the night.

"Yeah, that'd be cool," I replied nonchalantly, "Shall we meet here at six o'clock?"

"Y-yeah, sure thing," Ann replied, stuttering, but cheerful; she then ran off, presumably back to the Inn, where she lived, leaving me to my thoughts and plans.

At five past six, Ann arrived for our would-be date. She was wearing her jeans and a Stars and Stripes t-shirt that was far too long for her. I too had given into my patriotic side and was sporting a black t-shirt portraying the Statue of Liberty with the blue, red and white words _1776 FOREVER_ emblazoned on it in loud, American font. However, I was not feeling very loyal to America that day, as I was more concerned with defending the more vital independence of my sister from a foreign invader.

Ann didn't bother waiting for Popuri and our mother, but, laughing, pulled me by the hand, yanking me off to the beach. I sighed inwardly. Perhaps it was a mistake to ally myself with such a buoyant lady.

The sun rained its rays down upon America like a blessing and the breeze caressed the summer leaves lovingly, as we walked down towards the beach. Ann was chattering about some other beach party she had attended in Boston the previous year and how it couldn't compare to this, but it was still worth going because everyone would be there, having fun and watching the fireworks and laughing and dancing and cheering and oh gosh, I hope I'm not boring you?

I smiled and waved dismissively. I informed the talkative redhead that she was at least not boring herself. She got the subtlety, to my surprise.

"You're funny Rick!" she laughed, before observing that we had reached Barley's farm, saying, "Nearly there now. That was a quick ten minutes, don't you think?"

Perhaps at this juncture, I ought to give a geographical representation of Mineral Island. The land lies some twenty-three miles off the coast of Virginia, according to my trusty, yet battered and well-read mental atlas. It is about eight miles long and three miles wide, if the wide aspect can be considered the region from north to south. It has a population of approximately one thousand, with a small majority concentrated in the only town, but with several isolated hamlets scattered throughout. The Poultry Farm, my own good household, was a fifteen-minute walk from the beach and was on the outskirts of Mineral Town.

Five minutes of a one-sided conversation later, we reached the beach. I noticed to my initial bemusement that there were less than a hundred people on the vast expanse of beach. This may not have seemed such a small number, but the Fourth of July annual Beach Party always attracted in excess of nine hundred people and even that was considered a low count. Mineral Town was a very patriotic place. I respectfully inquired of my lady why these few were the only people there.

"Don't you know anything!?" she snapped, although it was without anger or intended rudeness, "It's far too early for the fireworks yet. Look," she pointed to the sky, "The sun is still high in the sky."

"Oh yeah," I replied, with a tinge of embarrassment at such a foolish mistake, "Of course." I wiped my brow with a handkerchief, glowing in the heat of the July sun.

I scanned the beach. No sign of Popuri or, more importantly, Kai. My love had set out with Mother behind us, but no doubt by now she had rejoined with Kai and was now frolicking somewhere with him, frighteningly in perhaps more ways than one.

Thankfully my fears were soon dispelled by the rapid appearance of the pair, who came over the grassy embankment and slid down onto the scorching sand. Meanwhile, Ann had gone off to help her father, who was steering the first part of a large barbeque further down the beach, leaving me to meet the two alone.

"Hey Rick!" squealed Popuri as she bounded over to me, "Happy Fourth of July!" She waved a plastic flag rather enthusiastically as Kai ran lithely up to join us.

"Hey man, happy Fourth of July," he grinned, firmly shaking my hand and giving a great big grin. I'll admit this, he was a charming rogue.

Being somewhat lenient, I decided to retreat from my hostile standpoint and refortify my previous stance of neutrality towards Kai. After all, apart from that embrace, which may have been vilified in my suspicious mind, there was no other reason to suggest that Kai was plotting infidelity. Unless there was more evidence, I could refrain and relax.

We talked for a while of this and that as the beach slowly filled up with people, drawn by the anticipation of fireworks following the rapidly setting sun. About an hour after Ann and I had arrived, Mayor Thomas strutted to the top of the sandy embankment and announced that the party was to begin.

I don't know what to say about old Mayor Thomas. I knew him as our reasonably benevolent overlord, a man who was king in all but name of this isolated part of a country that had shaken off the shackles of the monarchy. His ancestors had come over on the _Mayflower_ and he never let the townsfolk forget it. His father had been mayor before him and his father before him, stretching back all the way to the Revolution, a dynasty of men whose _raison d'être _had been the accumulation of wealth. There were dark whispers that Mayor Thomas was in contact with the higher echelons of the Republican Party and would run for President in 2008. Even blacker rumours suggested that if he was elected, America's governance would go the same way as that of Mineral Island and we could expect a king in Washington by 2010. But I would not care. Over the next few years, Mayor Thomas would, without ever knowing it, become one of my greatest friends and allies.

To get back to the party, it began in a slow way. Burgers sizzled on blackened grills and ranks of hot dogs stood ready to unite with floury buns for the satisfaction of American taste buds. Hollering men stood around in groups and drank imported beer (oh the irony!) and children played in the sand as half-attentive mothers chattered to each other.

As for me, I walked from one end of the party to the other, with my would-be date by my side. She seemed very cheerful; no, let me restate that, she seemed _even_ more cheerful than usual, gabbing away whilst I maintained a reserved silence and listened deafly to her.

"You know what I like about you Rick?" she interjected into her monologue, "You're a good listener."

"Thank you Ann," I replied automatically, scanning the beach for the troublesome twosome that was preying on my mind.

"Rick!" she exclaimed, lightly hitting my shoulder, "You weren't listening to me?"

I shook my head and turned back to her. "Sorry," I apologised meekly, "I'm just wondering about Popuri and Kai…"

"They make such a cute couple, don't they?" grinned Ann.

"What!?" I exclaimed, "They _are_ a couple?"

"Well, no," she admitted quickly, taken aback by my response, "but I think they would."

"That is a vast difference," I replied, "and one that I don't particularly like because, believe it or not Ann, I consider-"

"_Yee-haw!_"

I did not need to turn around. Uncle Freddy had arrived. He always did take the Fourth of July seriously, in his own whimsical way.

"_Freddy!_" squealed Ann, rushing past me and towards the island's favourite farmer. I sighed. A potential ally, for Ann was Popuri's closest friend and had great influence on her, had been lost thanks to a seventy-eight-year-old wearing a cowboy hat.

Sighing, I strolled onto the pier and carefully stepped along it, the deep wooden booms of every step echoing in my frustrated mind, until I reached the end and stared out across an endless sea.

Why? _Why?_ That was the question on my mind. Why had I fallen so deeply in love with my own sister? It was sickening and yet so wonderful at the same time. It was so incarcerating and yet so liberating. I did not want to and yet I wanted nothing else. It was ugly and it was beautiful; it was awful and yet perfect; it was nothing and everything.

It was the way it was.

Seemingly as if by magic, the instant I realised this truth, the sun disappeared below the dreamy western horizon and a single flame of fire rose from the occidental land of Virginia and exploded, a beacon of celebration. It was followed by many more fireworks and cheers erupted from the beach behind me as I stood on my wooden island of solitude and sorrow, reflecting on my curse.

I walked back to the beach and met up with Ann, who was holding two cans of root beer. She cheerfully grinned and made me a gift of one. I accepted silently, but reciprocating the smile and we walked off together towards the beach.

She held my hand, just for a moment.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I kept staring at Kai and Popuri, going everywhere together, watching them laugh and talk and cheer, their moments of silence, sound, solemnity and searing joy. I kept searching their souls for any possible romantic intent, but I did not find it, until, by chance, I sat on a bench with Ann, talking of this and that, when I suddenly caught the tinkling voice of my sister behind us. Pausing only for a second, I kept one ear open on the conversation of the pair, who were sat on a bunker of sand staring out at the heavens.

"I can't leave Kai, I just can't," protested my princess.

"But why?" asked the swinish seaman, "What is there for you here?"

"I have Mother to take care of," she replied promptly, "and Rick can't do all the work by himself. He needs someone to help him."

I smiled inwardly.

"But say it again, please," Kai requested, "Please say it. I love you, you know."

"I love you too," Popuri finally replied, "I do."

"So that's why I go for a walk everyday," concluded Ann, "You should try it Rick, it's good for you. We can go together and – hey, where are you going?"

I walked angrily off into the dark, being chased by the redhead. When she caught up with me, I made some excuse that I had been struck by a recurring bout of cramp, and I needed to walk it off. Ann seemed to accept it, adding reluctantly, "Well, do you still want to go for that walk, or have I upset you?"

I replied hastily that it wasn't her and apologized for being so rude. She then smiled cheerily again. By this time, people were beginning to disperse (we had been there for seven hours, by God!) back home, to gain a few hours of sleep before the new dawn broke. I said goodnight to Ann and we shook hands.

Her hand lingered in mine for just a few seconds afterwards. Ah, the mystery that a summer night brings.


	11. Ann

VarekaiSoleil: Thank you very much! I'm glad you find a lot of enjoyment and pleasure in my humble work.

Niraak: Hopefully this chapter should answer most of your questions! Keep reading and enjoy the update.

Hay Lin rox: Gonna be a while yet with the crime, but hopefully you'll be entertained for long enough until it arrives.

Nina: Glad you're enjoying it! I always like to see a new reader who is willing to take the plunge into this disturbing plot idea. I'm happy you're enjoying it and I'm also surprised about the birthday coincidence! Very strange indeed.

1angelette: Things are never as they seem in here, my dear. Don't even expect this chapter to be the end of the Ann matter! ;)

Vook: Actually, you have no idea how wrong you are, my friend. It ends tragically, but not in the way you would expect.

I was inspired in part by the movie and novel of _Lolita_, for the idea of perverse love, but I've branched out into a more detached setting, so it's only a bit of inspiration. The rest is my own twisted mind. ;)

The Scarlet Sky: Your kind words are much appreciated. Thank you for reviewing my work.

I never really noticed how important little details were, but now I do, thanks to you. It is curious what readers bring up that the author never noticed before. Please keep reading and enjoying what I offer here. It will make it all worthwhile, as it would to all my other good reviewers.

I love MASH too, it is amazing!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 11: Ann

The psychiatrist has stared at me and scribbled nuggets of information down as I recite the story of the story of my life for several days now and has asked probed my subconscious for Freudian monstrosities, as all psychiatrists are wont to do. Yes, that is a generalisation and I know it. I loathe the minions of Dr. Sigmund. However, today's session was more interesting and it was titled:

"Mr. Kinsey, _do_ tell me about Ms. Lemont."

Ann.

Meanwhile, the prosecutor harangued me on my first crime, which amused me. They can never prove it though and it is likely they never will. Dead men don't tell their stories, whether true or false.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The time was now. There could be no delay. Everything was at stake here. _Everything_.

A purple capped head bobbed into view and I duly lined it up in my telescopic sight. He would die; he just _had_ to die. Pausing only for a moment to reflect on my success, I sighed and squeezed the trigger. The purple head exploded with purple blood. I grinned and laid down the sniper rifle. Somewhere a woman screamed and I saw that it was good.

RickK1985 was now the proud owner of twenty-five kills and duly shrugged off the digital howls of "Camper, camper!"

As my internet warrior stepped down the virtual steps, another player power walked into view and I duly dispatched him with my handgun. RickK1985 now had twenty-six kills.

At that point, my angelic sister glided into the room and announced, "Rick, Mom says that dinner is ready."

"Just a minute, Popuri," I murmured, surprisingly distracted from her by the rather amusing practice of false war. A squadron of "noobs", as we internet aficionados like to call arrogant and rookie players, had been hit by a grenade and entertainingly exploded.

She shook her head, amused by the spectacle of boys in battle, and sidled out of the room. I quickly forgot about my princess and returned to the game.

One hundred players, in two teams of fifty, had been battling for half an hour now. Now there were only twenty on either side, and our team was slaughtering the villains of this piece. It had been brutal and bloody and now it was nearly over. Or at least that was how it first seemed; we had a setback when a rogue grenade wiped out half our remaining team. I gritted my teeth and jumped out of the way as a burst of flaming bullets from a machine gun post nearly impacted my skull and shattered the wooden wall. Meanwhile, an ally stealthily reached the enemy base and blew up everyone there with a bomb, including the knave who was attempting to assassinate me, heroically sacrificing himself in the process.

Now there were just two warriors left on the field of combat; only one representative for each team surviving. The hunt was on.

As I scraped and strafed across the dewy terrain, I pondered the mystery of the boy from across the sea. Surprisingly, for someone who had visited our shores for years, we knew very little of Kai; where he came from, where he was going, his aims, hopes and dreams in life. Maybe that was where Popuri's attraction came from; his mystique was enchanting to the young and naïve woman. Then there was the big, worrying issue; marriage. If this relationship blossomed further and longer than I hoped it would, then a union would be very likely.

Virginian law states that a woman can marry at 18 years of age, but 14 with parental consent. I was mollified by the feeling I had that Mother would not give up her pride and joy easily and especially not to a boy who was present for only a quarter of the year. That gave me time to plan, but I would have to hurry, for Popuri would be 18 in the summer of 2006, and I was aware that even three years might not be long enough to drive the couple apart. The passage of time was already making itself felt; for as she said in her own words as she barged in a second time:

"Hey Rick, do you remember that it's my birthday tomorrow?"

"Sure do," I replied nonchalantly. Where _was_ that lone enemy of mine?

Speak of the devil! I rounded a corner and bumped into the vigilante, rifle in hand. Automatically both raised their weapons to the head of their opponent, forcing a stalemate. I gritted my teeth harder. Victory would require my full concentration.

"Remember Rick," my erstwhile sister reminded me, "that dinner _is_ ready."

"I know," I replied mechanically, glued to the screen.

"Yesterday was fun, wasn't it?" chirped my sister, refusing to leave.

"Sure was."

"Ann had a good time with you."

"That's nice."

"She was wondering if you'd like to go out again with her tonight."

I swivelled round, surprised beyond belief by what Popuri had said. As I was about to inquire further, a loud gunshot made me start. I looked back and saw that my movement had jerked the mouse, and therefore the gun, away from the enemy, leading to the brains of my virtual vigilante being painted across the cold, steel walls.

Giggling, hand covering her mouth, Popuri dashed out of the room and I, witless warrior, followed her to our lunchtime meal.

Meals had always been a most pleasant time in my childhood and right up to the day my father left for the Far East, there was never a repast that had not been full of pleasure, joy and intimacy. That had been dented somewhat by the departure of the man of the house and the subsequent interest which his heir had invested in his heiress, but they were still warm, loving and most of all, delicious.

This dinner seemed long and protracted, mostly because of my questions about what Popuri had said. They raced through my mind, whizzing past neurons that vainly attempted to catch them and start making sense of what was going on. Popuri's suggestive smiles, head in hand and twirling of spaghetti on her stainless steel fork was an annoying intrusion. Finally, after several minutes of this embarrassing charade, I slammed my fork down and demanded angrily of my sister, "What? What do you mean by all of this! You may think it's funny, but it's damn annoying, so spill the beans right this instant!"

Popuri was taken aback, mouth hanging open, but after a few seconds, to my great annoyance, she began giggling again and said cryptically, "If only you knew!"

"Well I do!" I snarled, "I know what she thinks about me. I'm not as stupid as you like to think, Popuri. But there is only room for one girl in my life and that is Karen!"

_Lie_.

"Oh Karen," replied Popuri, mockingly twisting her fork in the air, "She is alright, but she's so, how you say, _perfect_? She always acts as though she's the queen of us all! But she's just a drunk, a useless, vain, self-absorbed _drunk_!"

"What the hell do _you _know!?" I screamed at her, standing up and pounding my fist on the table, pointing a shaking finger at the insolence of the fair nymph, "If you knew the truth, you'd never dare speak to me with such arrogance again!"

I turned and stormed out of the house, refusing to listen to Mother's pleas for reconciliation. Slamming the door behind me, I stomped towards the town square, loathing for the first time in over a year that pompous, frustrating, self-styled prom queen that was my younger sister. Why was she so wonderful? Why was she so terrible? Why could I simply not die and be rid of this situation I was in?

I walked, of all place, to the Inn. Surveying briefly its whitewashed brickwork and wooden door, I entered the building. In the bar, Doug was polishing already well-polished mugs. He saw me and nodded. Barmen are exceptionally good at reading people.

I sat down heavily on the leather-coated stool and watched the cascade of icy-foamed beer as it filled the crystal-clear mug. Yes, I drank. Yes, I was allowed to by a friendly landlord. Go ahead, arrest me. Oh, wait, sorry. You already did that. I'm tired of this nonsense. Let's go and annoy the guard.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours later now; calmed down. Recalling that event was infuriating. Sometimes I wonder if that's all I ever did; go to prison for want of an immature little girl who had not a brain cell in her head. That wasn't true, but sometimes one just wonders about the real scope of this whole matter.

Anyway, getting back on track; Doug and his impressive moustache were only the stand-in for his daughter, proud wearer of boyish overalls and no moustache, who promptly walked in from the kitchen, saw the author, and walked up behind the bar. Slapping her dad on the shoulder, she cheerfully said, "Dad, you can go now. I'll take care of the bar."

"Oh thanks Ann, you're a star," yawned Doug, "I'm feeling quite sleepy anyway. If it gets busy in here, just holler."

The tired tavern owner walked into the kitchen, which led to his bedroom. For a few moments, all that could be heard in the otherwise empty bar was the mechanical clicking of the clock on the far wall. It was Ann who broke the silence first.

"So, what are you doing here Rick?" she queried, polishing a beer mug in paternal fashion, "You look pretty angry, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Yeah," I admitted, "You're right there. Popuri and I had a big falling-out just now at dinner."

"Oh dear," sighed Ann, scrubbing the mug furiously, yet needlessly. She too knew Popuri had a fearsome temper.

"Exactly," I agreed, sipping the prize ale, "She called Karen things I dare not repeat."

"But why?" asked Ann, astonished at this revelation, "I always thought she and Karen got along fine."

I braced myself. "To be quite honest Ann," I said slowly, "I think it was to do with you."

"_WHAT!?_" yelled Ann, slamming the glass down with less care than she had been cleaning it with. I flinched in terror.

"Calm down!" I exclaimed hurriedly, attempting to use Popuri as a means to extend my personal fears about my relationship with Ann, "She seemed to be trying to hint that I… that I should go with you instead of Karen. I don't know why though."

Ann called Popuri an extremely vile name. "I'm gonna chew her out when I next see her," she growled, her chest heaving furiously thanks to her fury.

"Well," I said carefully, tiptoeing through a minefield, "_Do _you like me, Ann? Just speculating of course," I added when I saw the look she gave me.

Ann calmed down a little more and leaned over the bar. "I do like you Rick, but not in that way. I know I can be over-friendly at times, but that's just who I am. Popuri's just being immature and making something out of nothing. I really like you Rick, you're a swell guy, but you're not anything more than that."

"I'll drink to that," I smiled, raising my glass.

"That's good," smiled Ann, giving me her trademark flash of pearly whites.

"Oh," I added, remembering something Popuri had said, "You mentioned something about going out tonight."

"Yeah, to drink beer," was the reply, "and here we are!"

We laughed and talked for a long time. Hours were swept away on the winds of friendship and good cheer. As the bar began to fill up with the regulars, drinkers and gamblers of the night, the polished (no doubt by one of the Lemonts) black phone began ringing loudly. Ann promptly picked it up and greeted, "Hello, the Lemont Inn. How can I help you? Oh, Lilia!"

My ears picked up at this. Mother was searching for me.

"Yes, yes he's here," assured Ann, "Would you like to speak to him?"

She handed me the phone. I received the receiver and said curtly, "Hello Mom."

"Rick, your sister wants to talk to you."

I rolled my eyes in frustration at this. Mother always insisted on making the calls, even if it was someone else who wanted to speak. She handed the phone over to Popuri and I swore I could smell her nectar breath coming down the line.

"Rick," she started and her voice was full of regretful sincerity, "I'm sorry for what I said about Karen. I really am. I'm sorry for what I was, er, what's the word? You know…about Ann?"

"Implying," I offered helpfully.

"Right, implying," Popuri continued, "I was just wondering if you'd like to come home tonight and celebrate my birthday tomorrow?"

I smiled, "Of course I would. I'll be right there. See you in a minute."

I handed the phone back to a smiling Ann, who put the phone down and asked, "You're going home then."

"That's right," I answered, "You know, I think that Popuri means well, but she just doesn't have tact. Don't be too harsh on her tomorrow."

"Alright," assured the redhead, "I won't give her the Full Ann."

Laughing, we said farewell to each other and I walked home, feeling happier and more content than I had been in a long, long time. Things were looking up and perhaps even getting back to normal. Nothing could have possibly gone wrong, in my mind.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Nothing to say," I replied cordially, but coldly, "She was my friend, my confidant, nothing more, nothing less."

"Well that's interesting," retorted Freud, "Many people in the town seem to think that Ann was largely responsible for what happened the following March."

"The people of Mineral Town do not think," I announced with hostility.

"Fine, fine, right," conceded the good doctor soothingly, "But sooner or later, you've got to ask yourself; what was the turning point?"

I contemplated in silence and one thought pushed its way to the top.

_Him._


	12. What He Thinks

This is a bit cheap, but I'm advertising the fanfiction I'm going to write after _Rick_, called _The American Dynasty_. I've put the first chapter up as a bit of a sneak preview, so can y'all read it now and give me some feedback on how it feels, so that I can get rid of any mistakes or weak points now. Thank you very much my dear readers.

Anyway…

THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR FIFTY REVIEWS! You're all such wonderful people for reviewing and keeping this story alive! Thanks very, VERY much!

Onto business:

The Scarlet Sky: I'm not giving away any of my secrets, but keep on thinking and predicting, because knowing that I've written a story that causes so much analyzing on the part of at least one reader makes me very proud and satisfied. I'm sure you'll get much enjoyment out of the end when it finally comes. Thank you once again for reviewing. By the way, it was the psychiatrist, not the guard, so Ann isn't famous (or infamous), and the doctor will have had a lot of background info on Rick's family and friends. Ann is important in this story though, so hold on to your interest on that part.

VarekaiSoleil: On that note, I suppose I must start updating more regularly, since school is starting again for me in September (aaaaaargh!), but hopefully I won't destroy your education with one more chapter. ;) Keep reading my friend, your support means a lot to me.

Hay Lin rox: Maybe…or maybe not…

Nina: Thanks! I hope you enjoy this next instalment.

Jay Bird12: I am stunned by your kind words. That my story should rate so highly with you is a compliment indeed. I'm glad that it exceeded your expectations and that you enjoyed it so. Keep reading and I hope that it's inspired you to pen great works!

Laura: Thanks!

Lotusbrody: It would be my pleasure to assist you in any way I can. Give me a buzz at and we'll take a look at your ideas! Keep reading and have fun!

Ohtar: I'm guilty of digital psychosis. Many-a-time I've brutally slaughtered dozens of fictional characters in a anger-fuelled killing spree. Luckily it hasn't gone beyond the virtual world…yet… Enjoy!

To be quite honest with all of you, this chapter seems a bit of a dud to me. I don't think much happens in it, but it had to be written to advance the plot somewhat. Rick experiences a big change in his outlooks on Popuri, Karen and life in general. Don't be disappointed if this chapter seems a little non-eventful, but it'll help get things rolling again.

Let's read.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 12: What He Thinks.

It is cloudy here at the prison today. Cloudy skies, cloudy moods. When the sun is shining, the incarcerates are more boisterous (read violent) and occasionally a scuffle breaks out. Despite my lanky frame and passive demeanour, I am never a target of much bigger, stronger and more violent men. They do not dare. They are afraid of me and I see that it is well-founded.

A few spots of rain hit the bullet-proof glass of my window. I look up from writing this battered manuscript and frown at the tears of heaven. In the cell across from me, I know that Max "The Axe" Farrell is heaving melancholic sighs; a truck driver who murdered eight people with the same hatchet and yet weeps uncontrollably during sad movies.

I do not weep. I merely frown and ponder on the world's cruelty. If my life had proceeded in the same vein as the fall of 2003, I would still be working on that farm, free of any of nature's sadistic actions and celebrating my return to the fold, that sweet, wonderful cluster of health and normality.

The guard came in a few moments ago, interrupting my regret-filled voyage into the past. He is a young man, in his mid-twenties. Many a time, on his break, I have seen him reading voraciously through a book entitled: _Serial Killers of the Past and Present_. I knew from the moment he unlocked and pushed, with some difficulty, the steel door open, that his entry was not on official business.

"Uh," he asked hesitantly, "Mr. Kinsey? Can I ask you a favour?"

"Sure you can Carl," I replied cordially, standing up and shaking his hand, "What can I do for you?"

"Well sir," he began. I noticed he did not mind my informal name usage, which gave me further evidence that he was going to ask me for something quite big by the standards of the guards, "I was just wondering, you know, if I could, er, have your autograph?"

I smiled. I was not surprised. Recently, an explosion of autograph-signing had occurred amongst the population of the prison. The signatures of serial killers were highly valued by the morbid guardians of their cells and had even become a minor currency. Would you like two bottles of scotch? That will be two "Mad" Mike Giuliani autographs and one Sam Travis autograph please!

I did not usually engage in such neo-capitalism, but I had often wondered how much my autograph would be worth on the black market. I had refrained before, but I surmised that Carl would treasure the signature for itself and not how much it could be used to purchase, so I agreed.

"Of course Carl," I replied generously. Accepting the pen and paper he proffered to me, I wrote in fine script:

_To Carl,_

_Be good; don't end up being the guarded instead of the guard. And always be careful of those who take too much interest in you._

_Your condemned friend, _

_Rick Kinsey_

I returned the pen and autograph to him. Carl was overwhelmed with joy, thanking me from the bottom of his heart. As he read my note, his face creased up with puzzlement. As he was about to leave, he asked, "Mr. Kinsey? What do you mean about being careful of those who take too much interest in me?"

I smiled again, but this time there was no joy in it. Not looking at the guard, I replied stoically, "It really doesn't matter now Carl. Just be careful."

Nodding emptily, the confused guard left and slammed the door shut, locking it. Once again I was alone and the clouds closed in.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

August went by without incident and the fall rolled in. Kai left on the last day of August and I would not have cared a jot if Popuri had gone with him, except perhaps on business matters. I categorically refused to do her chores at the farm.

Ah yes, the farm. Perhaps some of my more urban readers are already sniggering and claiming my agricultural lifestyle as a reason for my perverse affections. Laugh all you like, for they were virtually no more by the end of summer. Thanks to the re-aligning forces of Popuri's immature behaviour and the newly acquired friendship of Ann, I was back on path towards a healthier biological existence. Anyway, back to the farm. We had had record sales of chickens, eggs and feed. Zack was shipping huge quantities to the mainland every month and we were raking in the profits.

Not only was our financial situation improving, but my personal one was as well. Karen returned the day after Popuri's birthday and things went on as they ever had. My sister's claims of affection on the part of Ann were grossly exaggerated and my friendship with her had given me another bastion of support from the Inn.

As the leaves began turning gold and falling, I revelled in walking through the forest with Ann every single morning and we talked of anything that came to mind. Whenever we had time to spare in those early hours, we took golf clubs and hit balls from Mother's Hill to relax. We also spoke of the affection that each had for their other half; in my case Karen, in hers the ever zealous yet strangely muted Cliff.

"He's sweet," she once said whilst perfecting her drive at the top of the craggy hill, "but he's so damn quiet." (I loved her tomboyish use of the word "damn". If there was anything that annoyed me about Karen, it was the fact that she did not let out her closet male, explosions aside.)

"What are you going to do about that?" I inquired. Ann always had a plan.

"I don't know," she replied, peering out towards the dawn, tracking the path of her ball, "It's a pity it isn't a hundred years ago. Then I could seduce Cliff and then force him to marry me in a shotgun wedding. What!?" she asked, seeing me laughing fit to burst, "I would!"

"I know!" I chortled, "That's why it's so funny!"

"So, what's the deal with you and Karen?" Ann asked, setting the club aside and sitting down on a large, flat rock. She saw my expression and reassured me, "No, no! I don't mean it like that. What I mean is, you've got to admit, you're completely different, so how does it work out? Ooh God, that didn't sound too flattering, did it?"

I smiled, answering, "No, it didn't. Well, Karen and I aren't actually all that different. Sure, I may appear a bit of a dork and she's, uh, well, you know, gorgeous, but we share similar interests…such as blowing things up."

Ann grinned, before adding, "You've always been together. It's always been Rick and Karen; never anybody else. You complement each other nicely."

"That's true actually," I agreed, nodding my head, "I can't believe Popuri said Karen always has to be the centre of attention." I laughed at this. Ann did not, which puzzled me somewhat. I asked, "What? Does she?"

Ann looked uncomfortable. She squirmed a bit before making a reply, "Well… it's not that I don't like her."

That was always a bad start.

"But…" I motioned.

"But… you've got to admit that she is a bit – well – attention-hungry."

"How is she attention-hungry?" I asked, shocked by Ann's appraisal of Karen.

"For a start," began Ann, more confident of herself now, "she's always, _always_ got to be the centre of attention, no matter what the situation. Remember that piece we did for the Harvest Festival a couple of years ago?"

I strained my memory, trying to recall the events of that day. When I finally plucked them out of a cluster of quivering, unstable neurons, I nodded and affirmed my recollection.

"She only started off as a secondary character in the play," Ann told me, "but by the end, she'd rewritten the script, put herself in the role of the main character, since "we weren't able to do the script justice", ha-ha, and then she even had to _direct_ it."

I shrugged, "So? The audience liked it, didn't they?"

"Only because they knew she'd bash them if they didn't," retorted Ann, "That's not all. Whenever she does well in something, doesn't the whole world just _have_ to know it? But when anyone else ever achieves anything great, then Karen steps in and demeans them. No-one can take her spotlight. _No-one_."

I sat silent. Now that I thought about it, it was true. Karen did see herself as the centre of the universe. She could be arrogant, vicious and cruel towards those who she perceived as threats to her so-called glory. I sighed and sat down on the dusty, early morning ground. It was the truth, but I still didn't want to accept it. If I did, then I knew that my relationship with her would be sentenced to death; perhaps a quick, merciful death or a slow, drawn-out execution, in which both of us would realise that our love was doomed, but would desperately try to salvage it from the deep, dark sea of destiny.

"No way Ann," I snapped, standing up, "No way at all! What the hell do _you _know about Karen?"

I rushed off down the mountain, unheeding of Ann's calls and protests. I was so infuriated that I barely registered Popuri staring in shock at my anger as I barged past her. Running over the bridge and down into the forest, I skidded past the hot springs and emerged onto the West Farm. It was nearly harvest time and a cloud of wheat swayed in the windy fields. I sprinted through the fields towards the house where Uncle Freddy lived and pounded on the door when I reached it. He opened it and stared at the breathless and panting visitor.

"Uncle Freddy," I wheezed, "This is going to sound weird, but do you think Karen is a nice person?"

He continued staring as he registered the bizarre question and then replied nonchalantly, "Of course I do Rick She's a lovely person. Why do you ask?"

"Long story," I gasped, "I'll explain later."

"Okay then," replied Freddy, confused about the whole matter.

"Bye," I breathed and staggered off.

"Take care," answered Freddy.

As I dragged myself off, I secretly calculated Freddy's answer. In retrospect, it was a pathetic acceptance, but I reasoned the following at the time:

_If Freddy West thinks that Karen is a decent person, then that's good enough for me_.

I turned and saw Popuri in the far distance, walking with Ann. My eyes narrowed at the sight of her.

_You just had to bring it up, didn't you?_ I silently accused her.

_I hate you._

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I still hate her to this day for what she did back then. It may have been my fault at the beginning and the end, but it was her fault in that most crucial middle and that was a crime that was far worse than any that the residents of this fortress may have committed. Heck, her autograph would buy the whole damn prison.

God damn it.


	13. Ice

Author's Notes: Hello again everyone and a Happy New Year. I've finally overcome my serious writer's block and am able to present another chapter to you. It's a long chapter, but it is a very important one and a major event happens at the end that will move the plot on some way. The next chapter shouldn't be too long; it'll probably be finished in a week or so.

Letters (or reviews) now!

The Scarlet Sky: All I'm going to say is that Rick did something very bad to deserve the reputation he gets. Karen has some responsibility for what happens, but there is more to this than meets the eye. Thanks for reviewing.

Klutz586: Thanks, here's another!

Jay Bird12: I'm glad you understand. I hate having to write chapters where nothing much happens. Hopefully this is different, although it may not seem so at first.

Lone Nightblade: Thank you. It is an unusual and nasty subject and I was a bit wary of writing it at first, but wrote it in response to a question that kept going through my head whenever I played Harvest Moon: why is Rick so irrational on the subject of Popuri's relationship with Kai? Thanks and keep reading.

Hay Lin rox: Probably better than the other way around. I'd hate to mess with Ann.

Nina: Thank you. I've basically scrapped the other one; it's too grandiose to concentrate on and I'd never get close to finishing it. But I'll definitely finish this one, so keep on reading!

VarekaiSoleil: Thank you, I think it's a pretty neat idea, albeit a morbid one. Keep reading!

Enefet: That's very high praise. I think this story has quite a lot of flaws, but I'm hoping to edit it sometime soon to meet my perfectionist standards, which are a real pain in the ass when it comes to writing.

--------------------------------------------

Chapter 13: Ice

Summertime provides by far the most pleasant times in this sanatorium, for when the weather is pleasant we are allowed out into the prison yard for tricks and sports and all sorts of jolly japes, some of which are fatal. Thankfully, these escapades have never involved me in any way, contrary to my initial fears. Not only did Max "The Axe" take a liking to me, but it transpired that none of the prisoners dared to touch me anyhow. Whispers had been abroad before my arrival and those whispers had conveyed dark and brutal messages to the population of this fortress city. The unruly ranks of the penitentiary respect me and I in turn acknowledge them as "friends". Even though we would never associate in the free world, here we are brothers.

One example of my influence in this steel cavern happened a few days ago. Since the weather is pleasant, we are allowed out into the prison yard. Rarely does playtime end without one of the felons dead and at least another one escorted away by guards armed with heavy machine-guns, supported by snipers in the towers above. On this day, however, I provided a much-needed public service to all, except perhaps the undertakers.

I had been reading an interesting book on the subject of sexual perversion (irony) and could not put it down, so I took it into the yard with me, to study it at my leisure under the radiance of the glowing sun. Max wanted to play basketball, but I refused, assuring him that I would join him the next day. Unfortunate Max. Very fortunate victim.

About ten minutes into the session, something went wrong. Two of the prisoners got into a scuffle, over what I do not know, but I theorise that it was a petty matter that did not do this battle justice. Few people ever heard the first words that led to a brutal fight, but everyone knew at exactly the same time, because the atmosphere would change, the air would begin to smell of blood and iron and all eyes would instantly converge on ground zero. The guards would stiffen and watch the contest warily for a few moments before rushing in to intervene. If they were lucky, the victim would sometimes survive. Corpses are a dozen a dime in this barred fortress.

This afternoon, however, I had no interest in the fight, preferring to read my book instead. Even Max was bored of petty warfare and continued to play a solitary game of basketball as the ranks of anticipating inmates surged past us, sweat gleaming on his well-trimmed moustache. We heard the cheers and goadings for a few moments, but it seemed that the fight had quickly turned against one of the combatants, as silence swiftly rang out over the prison yard, save for the repetitive echo of fist connecting with skull. It punctuated the air with an agonizingly irritating beat.

_Crack_.

Silence.

_Crack_.

Silence

_Crack_.

Silence.

After a few moments of this, I had had enough. Sighing deeply, I carefully marked my place with a thick leather bookmark, stood up, leaving the book behind, and walked purposefully towards the huddled mass of miscreants. I easily parted them with my hands and politely requested that I be allowed through. Murderers, rapists, torturers and psychopaths; all allowed me through with unnerving haste. I came upon the predator mauling his prey. Both were young African-American men with well-built physiques, although this muscular endowment had failed to protect the loser from being almost instantly overwhelmed. I did not recognize the loser, but I had come to know the aggressor quite well. His name was Tobias Kant and he was serving life for several horrific attacks on people he had not quite seen eye-to-eye with.

I tapped him lightly on the shoulder and asked courteously, "Excuse me Tobias, but can you please stop hitting him?"

Kant turned on me and started yelling aggressively, "Who the hell do you think you are, motherf-" but then he saw me and fell silent.

"I wouldn't normally presume to interfere in your little fight," I continued cordially, "but I'm trying to read back there and your smashing of his skull is just the tinest bit distracting."

The bloodied punching bag looked at me in astonishment, scarcely believing what I was saying. Kant looked at me in a mixture of anger, surprise and fear. Behind me, I heard a voice mutter to a neighbour, "Who the hell does that guy think he is?"

"Be carefully," was the whispered reply, "That's Rick Kinsey, that is."

"_That's _Rick Kinsey!?" exclaimed the startled prisoner, "Jesus, I never thought he looked like _that_!"

There was silence for a moment, with Kant struggling to make a decision. Finally, a clear, commanding voice broke the tension.

"Let him go, Kant," ordered a rich, texturous voice to my left.

I looked around and saw a black gentleman with intelligent, decisive eyes and a black goatee and moustache which complemented his handsome features. He stood erect and confident, with no arrogance, but an entrenched, unshakeable belief in himself and his actions. His name was Constantine Brown and he was on death row for seventeen armed robberies, twelve of them had incurred fatalities. He had spilled blood and made headlines and the whole state had breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally accosted at a gas station in Fairfax County. He had not resisted and even offered to buy donuts for the arresting officers, an offer which was haughtily turned down.

Kant looked up at him and was about to protest, but Brown silenced him with a wave of his hand and continued, "This is Rick Kinsey we're talking about, and you really do _not_ want to piss him off. You wouldn't like him when he's angry, Kant."

Kant looked at me and there was fear in his eyes. Kant, the man who had bitten a fellow thug's nose off in a fit of anger, was afraid of me. There was silence for a further moment. Finally, almost exhaling with frustration, Kant threw the vanquished ragdoll of a man messily onto the floor and snarled at him, "You got lucky, punk." He stood up and stormed off. The crowd began dispersing as the guards moved in to retrieve the half-dead prisoner. I looked up at Brown and he winked reassuringly at me, before turning and walking off towards a wooden bench to lift weights. I returned to my beloved book. And Max simply stared in amazement.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Let us go back many years, but forward in the calender. By mid-October, Karen had supplanted Popuri, Ann was a good friend, Mother even seemed to be getting better and even though Father was nowhere to be seen, things seemed near-perfect. A serial killer on the mainland kept at his trade; the blood of which was trailing northwards towards New England, but for the most part, everything seemed happy and peaceful.

The day after I stormed down Mother's Hill, I made up with Ann, fearing the loss of a friend over something so trivial, and she took it in her good stride. Things seemed to be going so well. The nightmares of the summer were imprisoned in the past and there they would remain forever, never to be resurrected, never to be released.

Let us go forward again, to just over a month after the Mother's Hill incident. One morning, when the sky was just becoming light, I was prodded awake by Popuri. Peering blearily up at her smirking face, I asked exhaustedly, "What is it? What's wrong?"

She smiled and replied cryptically, "Rick, come closer. I have something to tell you."

"What is that then?" I asked again, confused, sitting up, rubbing my overladen eyes and shifted myself closer to her.

The force of the impact pushed me onto my back and as I, surprised, clawed the cold, wet missile off my freezing face, I heard a giggle and the sound of footsteps running out of the room and down the wooden stairs. I rubbed my eyes and looked at the sludge in my hands. White, glistening and cold.

I struggled out of bed, breathing heavily with anticipation and hurried over to the window. Wrenching open the curtains, I saw nothing but a pure blanket of blue-white snow over the land. It had been _snowing_!

Almost yelling with excitement, I changed into fresh clothes in a whirlwind and thundered down the wooden steps, narrowly avoided the large oak table and, grabbing my coat and gloves as I passed the hat stand and pushed the door open, not slowing for a second. As the homestead crashed behind me, I saw Karen running up through the thick snow towards me. I rushed towards her and in a meeting of minds, we ecstatically cried out the words we had kept bundled up for the whole day.

"_It's snowing!!!_"

We laughed joyously and had a brief snowball skirmish before the pair of us settled down. I noticed that she was wearing a purple coat that reached down to her knees, a black and white scarf wrapped extensively around her neck and a pair of pink earmuffs which nestled close to rosen cheeks, pinched by the frost that enveloped the island.

"It's incredible!" gushed Karen excitedly, like a small child, gesturing at everything around us, "It's absolutely incredible! There must have been _tonnes_ of it last night."

I nodded. That night, snow had fallen incessantly from the skies, descending to join the rising frosts that gripped our island in the coldest winter for centuries. The land was turned into a mythical, snowy paradise pure as the cold dust from whence it came that fell from the frozen stars. The sun hung weakly in the arctic east, struggling to make a dent on the icy dominion of the ground and around us, the bare trees rose glaringly up, branches stretching to touch the silky fabric of the sky from where the bounty of white blossom had scattered lazily.

My train of thought was broken by the happy screams of children rushing past the sparkling fence, clutching ice skates and wielding sledges. Behind them were a pair of teenagers, not much younger than us. They waved to us and yelled, "Hey, you going up to the river?"

"What's going on at the river?" Karen queried, jogging up to the gate, her breath smoky and quick.

"It's frozen solid!" answered one of the kids, "It's totally awesome! Get your skates and come on up!"

As they jogged on, fresh and youthful smiles of anticipation on their faces, I turned to Karen and lamented, "That sounds great, but we don't have any ice skates!"

"I know," replied Karen, shaking her head sadly, "I can't believe we're going to miss out on it."

"Did you say you don't have any skates?" queried a voice from across the garden.

We turned and saw Uncle Freddy regarding us carefully, leaning on the far edge of the fence which led towards Barley's farm. As we moved over to greet him, he smiled and rubbed his chin thoughtfully as we explained our predicament to him. He chuckled and, adjusting his cap as he stood up, replied jovially, "That's no problem kids, I've got mountains of them in the old tool shed. Come with me and we'll fish some out for you."

Thanking him profusely, we leaped over the fence and followed his sprightly step towards the West Farm through the stratas of snow, somewhat tamed by the treading of many feet. Along the route, we met many people of all ages, excitedly heading towards the frozen lake.

When we entered the farm, we were treated to a vast savannah of white, unspoiled save for the tiny imprints of a small animal. Freddy smiled when he saw them and as he trudged over to the tool shed, he whistled abruptly and a few moments later, a small puppy burst out of a small, snowy mound and joined his master, rolling around us and panting heavily, despite the freezing weather. Freddy unlocked the door and pulled it open with a whining creak. Inside, scattered in a pile in the centre, constrasting greatly with the neatly packed tools, were a heap of skates of all kinds.

"Skates of all kinds in there," indicated Freddy with a wrinkled finger, parroting my thoughts, "There're lots of ice skates in there. You'll probably be able to find pairs that will fit you."

He straightened his cap, looked at us and winked, before leaving us to our business. As he turned away, he seemed to remember something and looked back at us. He called to me, "Hey, Rick, come around on Thursday and let's have that chat we're always talking about having." I promised him I would, and he walked off, whistling a tune.

We found two pairs that fitted us and took them, closing the shed door with some difficulty. As we walked across the farm, on the path towards the lake past Mother's Hill, Karen leaned her head towards mine, her scented hair falling onto my shoulder, and whispered excitedly, "I'll race you!"

That was it. She took off and rushed across the fields, unfairly leaving me off-guard. I grinned aggressively and tore after her, slowly catching her up. I may look unathletic, but physical labouring on a farm every day of your life makes you very durable indeed. I caught up to her by the hot springs and winked smugly as I passed the gasping girl by. I reached the summit of Mother's Hill with ease and waited for the breathless loser, who was almost choking as she staggered to the top.

"It's quite simple really," I replied to the unspoken question, wearing a cocky smile, "I work my ass off every single day doing tough manual labour, and you lay about a shop, eating and drinking like nobody's business."

"Asshole," whispered Karen weakly, but unable to suppress a slight smile.

I waited for her to catch her breath and then helped her up. We walked up and suddenly it was there. We rounded the top of Mother's Hill and gazed upon a solid sea, graced by myriad figures floating steadily across the turquoise field of water made land.

Ecstatically, we ran down the snowy slope as fast as we dared and descended, almost floating, into a forest of white-jewelled trees and along a straight path, checkered with sunken footsteps, out onto the glossy plain. At the ice's edge were gathered dozens of people, mainly old people and some half-concerned mothers watching their children with unnecessary anxiety. Out on the ice itself, hundreds skated across the mighty expanse of frozen desert. We joined them, arm in arm, after slipping the borrowed boots on our feet, and floated onto the mysterious sea.

It was strange indeed, almost indescribable; it was as though we were moving to the rhythm of the gently hissing ice as the blades minutely split the ice with surgical precision. We linked arms for a while, then broke off and explored the frozen world ourselves. As I deftly avoided dozens of other such explorers, I saw Ann skating towards me with a tall, dark, young man following clumsily behind. As I passed Ann, she reached out and grabbed my waving hand and she pulled me around in a neat circle. She gave a sharp yank and pulled me back, nearly causing me to fall flat on my back. As I managed to totter back into balance, I drew up to Ann and hissed, "What's up Ann?"

"I want you to meet someone," she replied in a hushed tone.

She indicated the mysterious gentleman who was completely focussed on trying not to fall over. She looked back at me and stifled a cutesy giggle. I raised my eyebrow in a confused manner, but continued with them regardless.

As we reached the edge of the frozen disc, the stranger leaped in a headlong dive onto the snowy ground, relieved to have survived an experience for which the boisterous barmaid had not given him a chance to prepare for. Ann and I skated lazily onto the solid surface and helped him up. When Ann had brushed him down with a mix of aggressive playfullness and motherly concern, she took his hand and pushed it towards me, saying firmly, "Rick, meet Cliff. He's staying at the Inn for a while."

I surveyed Cliff. He was a tall, young man, about my age, whose height had done nothing for his temperament, which was shy and reclusive. He looked embarassed to be alive and even more so by Ann's enthusiastic approval of him. He had brown, messy hair and chocolate eyes and it was obvious that Ann adored him. His brown coat was spattered with powdery snow, which had been pushed around a lot by Ann's overzealous scrubbing.

"Nice to meet you Cliff," I smiled, cordially taking the hand and shaking it firmly, "If you ever need any eggs or chickens, I'm sure Ann will steal them for you."

She giggled with annoying overenthusiasm and nudged him with her elbow hard, making him wince, as she chuckled, "Oh, he's a dream, isn't he Cliff?"

"He certainly is," smiled Cliff weakly, as he rubbed his sore ribs, "It's a pleasure Rick."

"Hey ho guys," chirped a new voice behind us, "What's going on?"

Karen skated up to us and came to a neat stop right by me. Ann pulled Cliff forward and said, "Hey there Karen. I've got someone I want you to meet."

Meetings and greetings aside, we stood by the lake's edge and watched the numberless, anonymous skaters dance on the sparkling ice, talking aimlessly of this and that. I wondered where Popuri was, hoping that she wasn't up to anything stupid or dangerous. Whilst I was wondering where the pink-haired assailant had disappeared to, a voice behind us interrupted my thoughts.

"Karen!" it trilled.

We all turned around. It was Sasha, Karen's mom, wrapped in a thick, faux-fur coat, gripping a slowly-freezing camera with fluffy white mittens. She held the camera up to her face and said, "Get closer together, kids, and let's have a photo of you by the lake."

Bunching up together, the four of us smiled warmly and the flash transported me back to the present.

I only remember this because I have the photo, framed, on my desk. In it, four youngsters' smiles gleam in the snow, arms wrapped around each other; their eyes sparkling with that hopeful look of optimism that a more experienced viewer remembers with a wistful feeling of nostalgia; this feeling is doubled in my case. For that was the last day I was truly at peace with myself, for the events over the next two days would send shockwaves throughout the town and tarnish my soul.

-------------------------------

That evening, I spent an hour defrosting myself in front of a roaring fire at home. As I basked in the heat, I heard the door bang shut and Popuri shout, "Mom, I'm home!"

I lifted myself up onto my elbows and looked over the couch. Popuri's hair was glittering with snow and she was carrying a bag with some affluent-sounding Italian name printed on it. She strode over to the dinner table and set it down.

"What did you buy?" Mother asked.

"Oh," replied Popuri, her speech stuttering a little as she shivered, "I went with Deliah Springer to the mall and I got this neat coat from Borgio's. I'm gonna wear it tomorrow when I go skating."

I sank back down onto the sofa and asked, "Hey, Popuri, how much did that cost you?"

"Eighty dollars," was the curt reply. Mother gasped, but the girl protested, "It was my allowance money! I wanted to get it, so I did."

"You could have bought the same coat without the label for _eight_ dollars," I retorted, not without a slight tone of smug authority, "You're an idiot."

"And you suck," replied Popuri sweetly. She took the bag and bounded upstairs.

I sighed. Women can be fools, especially when they have money and lack brains.

-------------------------------

It began again on the pristine ice lake the following morning. This time, it would not end until one stormy night two years later, when a man would stand over my huddled figure and tell me that he knew. But I am getting ahead of myself. It began on an otherwise perfect day.

Skating on the lake with Ann, who was now talking incessantly about Cliff, I looked up suddenly for no particular reason and saw her.

She stood out immediately from the rest of the dull proles who circled the ice fields. Her deft movements across the frozen water were as light as those of a fairy's wing. Her black, furry cap was lightly sprinkled with snow and the hair that blossomed out of it shone with a youthful vitality that was unmatched. Her coat shielded her precious body from the frosty touch of the world and kept safe that strange, angelic glow that emanated from her very being. Her legs, encased beneath the long rim of that speckled cape, danced in rhythm with her jet-black skates. Her eyes gleamed with an distinct passion for life and her ruby lips glinted with the recollections of stolen kisses, secret meetings and hopeful futures. Her very presence struck down the merits of everyone around her and elevated her to glorious, unreachable heights. She was a queen of the ice, a princess of the snow, and nothing could contend with her. I saw her majesty and fell in love with her, again.

"So, in conclusion," drawled Ann, "Cliff is hot - Rick, are you listening to me?"

"Hmm?" I replied, still staring at Popuri as she floated off into the distance.

"You're _not_ listening to me!" she snapped, hitting me on the arm, "You're looking at...oh, that was your sister. Haven't seen her for days. Anyway, what I'm saying is very important - where _is _Cliff today? I haven't seen him since last night..."

Strangely, she then skated off, forgetting me entirely in the quest to find her muse. Shrugging my shoulders, still half-entranced by the sight of Popuri, I turned around and was about to set off when an unsettling sight hit me.

A tall figure was standing about twelve feet away, arms crossed and staring at me. The person, whom I supposed to be a man, was covered from head to foot in dark clothing, with a scarf wrapped around his face, a black hood over his head and only a small slit for the eyes, which were brown and penetrating. It was fairly disturbing and he seemed to have been watching me for a good few minutes. I met his gaze briefly, then skated off, trying not to look fazed by this odd encounter.

It would not be the last.

The following morning, I skated with Karen on a day that would change my life forever. It started out as a mundane Thursday, with an aura of frustration and annoyance on my part as Karen turned aside any discussion of what we were going to do on my birthday, which was a week away. After a tense parting, I went home and had a light lunch, and then attended to the chickens in the yard. That evening, after having dinner, I selected a fine bottle of wine from the packed cellar and went over to Freddy's farm, as I had promised.

I knocked loudly on the solid oak door and waited. After a brief moment of silence, I was treated to a barrage of abuse from the other side.

"Get the hell out of here!" the farmer roared angrily, "You're lucky I didn't call the cops. You think that just because you came to this goddamn island, you think you can get away with trying to take advantage of your old-"

I interrupted promptly, "It's me Uncle Freddy, Rick!"

Silence again. Then the door started rattling and finally it was pulled open by the occupant, who looked at me sheepishly.

"Rick!" he greeted me jovially as he opened the door, "It's great to see you, kid. I'm sorry, I thought it was someone else."

"Oh, that's no problem," I smiled, stepping in and handing him the bottle, "It's good to see you too. I haven't been in here for ages."

"Come on in."

He led me through the extensive main room, to the end where several armchairs were. The low table between them already had a bottle of cognac with two glasses set out. Freddy sat down in his overstuffed armchair and pulled his cap off. He tossed it aside and as I sat down in the chair next to his, he poured two glasses of cognac and gave one to me.

"To our health," he toasted, kicking his glass back.

"And our livers," I added, taking the liquor down.

The night wore on in random spasms of both quick jumps and slow meandering hours; most likely due to the alcohol. We talked of many things; farming, sales, past events from years ago. As the mists of inebriation began to circle my consciousness, Freddy started talking about Karen.

"She's a lovely girl," he espoused warmly, "You and her have always been inseperable."

"That's true," I nodded, "We get along very well. Some people say, "What does she see in him?" but they don't realise how similar we actually are."

Freddy chuckled, "She really is something special. You oughta take good care of her, Rick."

"No need for that, she's able to take care of herself. She's a brown belt in karate, y'know."

He laughed louder this time, "That's true, that's very true."

Quiet descended upon us again and we both slipped into peaceful reflection. The incident at the door intrigued me and, in my state, I felt no hesitation or embarassment in asking bluntly what the matter had been.

"Oh," replied Freddy, taken aback a little, "No, it was no-one really, Rick. Let's just say that...not all kids are as good as you, Karen, and Popuri are." That led him onto another train of thought, "Popuri, now she is a lovely girl. You gotta really look after her, Rick, because she is an angel."

"Certainly is," I muttered. I was staring at the open window ten or so feet away. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but the sight of the curtains blowing aimlessly in the breeze was a disconcerting one. It felt as though something was up, as though we were not alone. The edges of my vision pulsated with black unconsciousness, thanks to the stupefying liquor. I wasn't thinking well and the drink was loosening my tongue. Looking back on it, I can see the danger I was in, but all my logic and reason had absconded with my caution in tow.

"I hope that Kai takes good care of her," reflected Freddy, nursing the last of the cognac.

"He's an asshole," I growled, "He'll do her no good, I tell you."

Freddy looked at me, confused by my reaction, "I thought you liked Kai."

"He's a jerk," I retorted, "He'll seduce her off this island and then dump her somewhere once he's got what he wants and he's found another star-struck, lovesick fool to cater to his every whim. Those kind of guys are all the same!"

"Well," countered Freddy, stepping up to the young man's defence, "From what I've seen, and I've seen those two a fair bit, he loves her a lot."

"He leaves her at the end of every summer," I pointed out, beginning to grow angrier and louder.

"So he's a traveller by nature," replied Freddy, "Doesn't mean he doesn't care for her. In fact, I'd say he was head-over-heels in love with her."

"But _I'm _in love with her!" I yelled in frustration.

I realised my mistake too late, in abject horror.

Freddy didn't look too good; he was slurring and probably only taking in what we were arguing about for as long as he needed to; he appeared to take my arguments, hold onto them tentatively and then dump them from his memory forever after formulating a counter-attack. After I yelled the unthinkable truth, he stared at me vaguely, then, to my absolute terror, his eyes focussed slowly onto me and a frown descended on his face, as he pieced together what I had just revealed. As my heart pounded in my chest and my mouth dried up, the oblivion of unconsciousness saw its' chance and pulled me into forgetfulness, leaving my mind to scream in futility and regret.


	14. Man of Blood

Author's Notes: Hey readers, sorry for taking so long to update. I've had quite a lot of stuff going on recently and it's only beginning to wind up just now. I've been working on this slowly for a while, but hopefully it'll be worth the wait. Enjoy.

Ekoaleko: Thank you very much. It's very nice to have a new reviewer! And yes, an eighty dollar designer jacket is a bargain, but I'm a guy and I don't really know these things. Hopefully you'll like the new chapter as well!

The Scarlet Sky: Jeez, too much praise from you again. You're an excellent writer, so don't put yourself down. I love your stuff as you know, but it's great to have such glowing reviews from such a great author. Thanks muchily and keep on writing yourself. Oh yeah, that goes to all of you as well. Keep on writing! And if you want me to look at anything you've written, since I always love a good read (but sadly never seem to get around to it, but I will!), then please by all means send me a message.

Nikooru-chan: Another Rick fanboy/girl! He is such a great character, but I've always felt he has a hint of dark things about him, which is what motivated me to write this fic. Why DOES he want to keep Popuri so near? Thanks for reviewing.

Becca: Here you go; it's more of an all-yearer than an all-nighter I'm afraid. Spent far too long doing this. Thanks for the review.

Nina: Had that much of an effect on you? I'm impressed and very happy. And yes, the American Dynasty is a gargantuan project (between you and me, my latest calculations estimate it at well over 80 chapters, and that's the pruned version! Still, I'll start it up again one day, once I've got my other pet projects out of the way, and I'll definitely let you know when I do!).

On with the show!

Chapter 14: Man of Blood

I hate him for what he did to me. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here right now, awaiting death in a cave of frozen dreams, waiting to die like so many thousands before me and so many more after. Dead without a word, without any credit to your name. From the prison in life to the prison of the grave, once you do what I did, you are incarcerated for now and for all time. Dead.

But they'll remember me, they will. That's a pity. I don't want to be remembered. Neither did he. We shared at least that in common. We both liked the countryside as well and we shared a fondness for alcohol, the least of all my vices. We also both liked Ann. If it hadn't been for him, I'd still be out there now. I wouldn't have done what I did, it wouldn't have taken an entire squadron of Marines to subdue me and I certainly would not have become the most hated man in America.

But I can also thank him for saving my sister. Without him, she would have long since been dead in either body or spirit. If it wasn't for him, this tragedy would have had an even more tragic ending.

Dear reader, my loyal and patient friends, you have squandered enough time speculating about how I came to be in this prison cell. You have probably followed the biased news reports or heard dubious testimony from a "survivor" on one of our many allegedly fine talk shows. But you have not known the truth and now you will get it. You will not have heard of this crime, I can guarantee that. No-one knew for a long, long time. But now, the truth shall set ye free and condemn me to another decade or so in this godforsaken place, or, if I'm lucky, another ten seconds in the electric chair.

--

I lay in the cold darkness of the night, sequested in my room, the all-encompassing blackness pushed back a little by the moonlight flowing through the open blinds. I was staring at the ceiling, contemplating my seemingly-inevitable ruin. Outside, snow lightly touched the glistening glass as the fall cascaded through the dark, bequeathing to us mortals yet another precious day of white winter. I was probably the only person on the island who wouldn't appreciate it at all.

I was unofficially doomed. No accusing finger and betraying voice stamped the authority of this revelation upon the world, but the whispered snigger on the lake in the cold dark made me realise that it was only a matter of time.

But sometimes leaving it to a matter of time can be too late for some. It's a dog-eat-dog world and I had no intention of being among the eaten.

I looked instinctively at the oblong object wrapped in red cloth, leaning precariously on the slide-door of the wardrobe.

--

Several days earlier, loitering in a not-so-different mindset, I gulped down the last mouthful of soup from the steaming bowl and grabbed my scarf. Wrapping it nervously around my neck, I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth and strode out into the hostility of the world.

My boots crunched as I stepped onto the snow. I saw Popuri, clad in her black snowsuit, in the chicken pen, holding one tiny chicken in her crystal hand. I began walking towards her, and as I neared, I heard her whisper, expelling diamond-laced breath, "Pon...yes, your name is Pon..."

"Good morning," I announced. Popuri looked up, taken by surprise at my appearance. She smiled and showed me the small fowl in her hands.

"Hello Rick," she replied cheerfully, "This is Pon. Isn't he just adorable?"

"Yes," I replied crisply. I looked cautiously around and found myself vaguely surprised that no vigilante ambush had materialised from the trees. It had been three days since the evening at the farm and I was amazed to find that no outrage had occurred. Perhaps I had misread the look on the old man's face?

"Rick! There you are!"

It was Karen. She was jogging towards us, crunching through the snow.

"Oh hello, Karen!" I shouted in return, "How are you?"

"Fine thanks," she breathed as she came to a stop, "Where _have _you been for the past three days? I haven't seen you!"

No hints of pitchforks, flaming torches, angry would-be-lynchers. I figured I was safe. I replied with a shrug of, "Sometimes you just gotta have some time to yourself. What's been going on?"

"Not much," she replied, shrugging herself. Taking my hand suddenly, she tugged me gently and said, "Let's go to the Inn."

I turned around to say goodbye to Popuri, but the object of my foul obsession had vanished somewhere with the object of her fowl obsession. Taking Karen's hand, I walked into the town with her, our feet snipping through the ever-resilent and falling snow. Though the weather was cold, my mind was burning with fear. How could I possibly have managed to avoid detection? It was quite plain that he had heard me. No, he must have been plotting some great trap for me, so that all the world would know my deepest, darkest secret.

Karen obviously sensed my discomfort, for she quickly spoke up with an anxious query, "What's the matter, Rick? Why haven't I seen you for so long?"

"Nothing's the matter," I replied weakly.

"Don't lie," she smiled, "It really doesn't suit you."

The intrustion annoyed me. I snapped, "There's nothing! I don't want to talk about it!"

"Okay then," she accepted doubtfully. There was silence for a while. As we entered the Square, she started up again, "Well, at least you'll feel better the day after tomorrow."

"Why?" I asked, my eyes narrowing.

"Silly," she giggled, "You can't have forgotten that it's your birthday!"

In truth, I had. I smiled embarassedly and shrugged, "Well, there's been a lot of business at the farm recently. Can't remember silly little things like that."

Karen laughed out loud at this. She smiled and said, "Oh Rick, you do make me laugh." Then, moving in close, her warm breath ran its fingertips over my cold cheek and whispered loving words in my ear, "Well, we'll do something nice, won't we?"

For the first time in several days, I relaxed completely. I just knew the day was going to brilliant. Karen always knew how to have a good time on birthdays, although her strategy invariably involved copious amounts of alcohol. Nevertheless, no-one ever walked away after a night out with her without admitting that they had had a considerable adventure. I was certain that it was going to be the best birthday ever.

Oh how wrong I was.

--

Two days later, I woke up, dressed at the speed of light and walked triumphantly down the stairs expecting presents galore from family, friends and well-wishers to be piled up on the dinner table and my loving family waiting with cake, chocolate and funny hats.

Absolutely nothing was waiting there for me. Just Mother washing up and Popuri quietly munching some cereal. Disappointed, but still hopeful, I walked to the table, grabbed a bagel and sat down, blinking as the hot kitchen light shone on me mockingly. Minutes passed and no surprise greetings were uttered, no presents were revealed, no cake was to be seen. Angry, yet holding it in, I left the table and retreated upstairs, simmering with resentment.

It was about four o'clock when Karen knocked on my door and came in. She was wearing an attractive black dress and gleaming white pearls around her neck. Despite guessing that this attire meant that she had remembered my birthday, I felt slightly bitter towards the whole world and asked her, "Do you remember what day today is?"

"Of course I do," she replied with a hint of reproach, "It's your birthday and we're going down to the Inn to celebrate."

"Alright then," I replied, feeling slightly better, getting up, "Should I get dressed up too?"

"Nah," she replied, waving away the offer, "I just thought I'd wear this since I've been waiting all year for an opportunity to actually put it on. Come on, let's go!"

The first stars were beginning to appear in the sky as we left the ranch and walked towards the town square. The wind blew innocently through the trees and Karen linked her arm around mine as we trudged through the town. There was no hint of the pleasant surprise that would soon appear, nor of the more sinister one that manifested itself towards the end of the night.

I was complaining about the negligence of my family as we got to the door of the Inn. Karen, with a barely-concealed smirk, opened the door of the Inn and I saw the light. I was suddenly treated to a deafening roar of, "_SURPRISE!_" as I beheld a massive crowd of people waiting around a large table covered with food. Hanging above the assembly was a brightly-coloured banner with the words _HAPPY BIRTHDAY RICK!_ enscribed in many different colours. As I took in this breathtaking spectacle, Karen leaned in and kissed me quickly on the cheek

"Happy birthday, Rick!" she said cheerfully, "Did you think we'd forgotten?"

"Well..." I hesitated for a moment before giving in, "Well, yeah, actually I thought you had!"

She twisted me towards her and, leaning in, whispered as she kissed me, "Well, in that case, you obviously think too little of yourself, you sweet, sweet fella. We all love you."

God, I did not deserve such a wonderful woman. Oh, the poor girl.

--

In retrospect, I remember little of the party apart from the cataclysmic revelation at the end. However, from my limited recollections, I must admit that it was an excellent affair. There was plenty of cake, which served Popuri well. There was plenty of company, which Mother enjoyed. There were prodigious reserves of alcohol available as well, which my lovely girlfriend enjoyed fully.

I somehow ended up holding court at a table in the corner, receiving greetings and tributes from various members of the town. The scale of the generosity astounded me. Although I had done favours and helped all sorts of people out in the past, it had all been before I'd left for the mainland. Afterwards, I'd generally kept to the house, in no small part due to my sister. I never thought that people would still like or respect me. Still, Karen probably had quite a large hand in this, as she generally got what she wanted and she had wanted this party for me.

My table consisted of Mother, Popuri, Karen, Ann and Cliff. Everyone got on very well with each other, Ann especially so with herself. After hearing her laugh at her forty-second joke of the evening, I excused myself on the pretext of needing fresh air.

The cold winter air swirled around me as I stepped out into the night, chilling my lungs as I breathed it in. I sighed loudly and slowly wandered over towards the Square, looking up at the few twinkling stars which could be made out through the artificial haze of the streetlights. I felt slightly better thanks to the party and the lack of any accusations. Yet, I could not help but hate my prolonged dilemna, my continued half-existence between a normal, healthy life and a shadow world of unspoken taboo and peverse longings. I searched the stars desperately, hoping against hope, that they would hold my salvation.

"Hey Rick!"

_Oh no._

"Hello Popuri," I managed, as I saw her glide over to me from the door of the Inn, "Having a good time?"

"Yes thank you," she replied, giving me one of her sugar-coated smiles, with glistening teeth and fairy eyes, "Yes, it's a wonderful party. Do you like the presents?"

"Oh yes," I gasped quickly in reply, "V-very nice, though I do think that Karen's present of a bottle of wine was, er, more for her than for me... Erm, where are you headed?"

"Home," she replied, "I'm going to check up on Pon."

"Hey," I warned her, "If you're going to take him out of the coop, don't forget to put him back in. We've already lost a few chickens to stray dogs this year."

"I know, I know!" replied Popuri defensively, "You don't have to keep reminding me of every little thing, Rick."

"Sorry," I answered. Then suddenly...

The brush of an angel's wing; Popuri had impulsively leaned in and hugged me. Her arm trailing around my neck and her hand whispering lightly across my shoulder, she whispered into my ear, "Happy birthday, Rick. I just wanted to tell you that."

She quickly kissed me on the cheek. I barely survived. She stepped away and, smiling, brushed her hand against mine as she walked back into the Inn. I stood there in a daze, swaying slightly in unrivalled bliss.

Even now, I think of Popuri as basically sweet-natured and kind, despite her frequent tantrums and bizarre fascination with my love-life. Perhaps, in her mischievious way, she was trying to avoid what she thought was inevitable; that Karen would eventually dump me for some more athletic, adventurous guy. She probably thought it was impossible that someone as beautiful as Karen could spend the rest of her life with a red-haired, quiet chicken farmer. Nevertheless, I didn't approve of her earlier attempt to set me up with Ann which, thankfully, had failed miserably. I never really knew why I loved Popuri, but perhaps one of the reasons was because times like this, when she showed her inner kindness, compassion and love and when her latent maturity manifested itself in all its glory.

Stood there in the darkness, revelling in the twisted bliss of love, I was jolted back into fearful reality by a black voice of ominous potential.

"You like her, don't you?"

"Who's that!?" I shouted, alarmed. Peering round the back of the Inn, I saw a hooded figure, his face in darkness, leaning against the wall. He grinned and I could just make out his gleaming teeth in the pale light of the street lamps.

"Just a curious man," replied the teeth, with a hint of menace.

"Well," I answered defensively, "of course I like her. She's my sister."

"You love her, don't you?" asked the man.

"Yes," I answered, wary and apprehensive of where this was going.

"You love her?" he queried, with a nastily humourous tone in his voice, "I mean..._love_ love her?"

I should have hit him. That might have put an end to any suspicion. But I just froze, a faint noise of horror escaping from my throat, as a response. The mystery man chuckled hoarsely and continued, "Can't even bring yourself to lie, eh?"

Shocked beyond belief, I turned and ran, stumbling back into the Inn as my heart pounded in a terrified frenzy. I almost ran into a drunken Ann, who yelled something obscene at me, but I ignored her and rushed on, weaving through the thick crowd until I reached the bathroom.

Dousing my flushed face with cold water, I stared at myself in the mirror. I knew there was only one person who could have been that mysterious man; Uncle Freddy. My life had seemingly come to its end. As long as that man lived and knew, I would never be safe.

_Which is precisely why he has to stop living._

This thought daunted me at first. I was most definitely not a murderer; even when I was a child, I'd never engaged in the juvenile hobby of pulling the wings off of flies or zapping ants with a magnifying glass. I was not even remotely capable of murder. The voice in my head had other ideas though.

_You can't let him live. He'll tell others._

Still I resisted. I was a man of peace, not a homicidal maniac. No matter how grave the danger, I thought I would never lower myself to murder a living, breathing human being. But then came the apocalyptic realisation that I had subconsciously feared all along.

_Popuri will find out. She'll hate you._

He had to die. He simply had to die.

Exactly one week later, I stared at the shotgun wrapped in the red cloth, leaning innocently against the wardrobe. Uncle Freddy was going to get his gun back, I could guarantee that...and the bullets as well.

_No!_ I thought. _Too obvious. But...maybe there is another way..._

I looked at the digital clock glaring at me from the desk. It read 21:00. Freddy would still be up.

Pulling myself upright, I tiptoed across to the bedroom door and slipped out. I knew that Mother would be asleep by now and crept quietly down the stairs, careful not to wake her. As I descended the stairs, I saw Popuri lying on the sofa in her pyjamas, watching MTV and clutching a can of cola to her chest. Ignoring her, as most normal brothers do, I walked over to the phone, picked it up and began dialing Freddy's number, slowly and methodically.

It rang twice; then was replaced with the fading voice of a dead man walking.

"Hello?"

"Hey Freddy," I replied cheerfully, "I need a favour."

"Hey Rick," replied my victim jovially, "Go right ahead."

"I need some fireworks."

Popuri sat up and stared at me in surprise. "Fireworks!?" she asked loudly, glee in her eyes.

"Shush, Popuri!" I scolded her, before adding to Uncle Freddy, "No, Freddy, just my dumb sister." I got hit by a well-aimed pillow for that remark.

"Hehehe," Freddy chuckled, "Okay, Rick, come up to the farm tomorrow and you can take your pick. Seven okay for you?"

"Yeah," I replied, "Seven it is. Thanks Freddy. See you then."

I put the phone down and headed back for my room. On the way, I was subjected to Popuri's pleas of, "Oooh, ooh, get some of those Roman candles!"

I sighed, "I'll try. See you in the morning, Popuri."

Rick the Knife. Had a ring to it.

--

The next day, at seven in the evening, I bid farewell to my mother and sister, picked up the shotgun, prepared myself for carnage and walked jovially to the West Farm. The night was cold and the breeze whistled through the stark, dead branches of the trees. In my mind, the wind carried exhortations with it.

_Do it, Rick. You must do it._

Before I knew it, I was standing at the door of Freddy's house. I knocked sternly three times and he answered. His cheerful features and friendly greeting of, "Great to see you, my boy," softened my heart briefly, but as the door closed behind me, I heard one last warning from the wind: _Don't let him get away with it._

The room was well lit. The television blared in the corner. Freddy went into the kitchen to get a glass of whiskey and I followed him. Whilst his back was turned, I decided that now was the moment to take my bold leap. I slipped the gun out of the bag and pointed it at Freddy's back...

_NO!_

I lowered the gun and leaned it against the side of the wall, together with the bag. His death here would be too obvious. As I finished laying them down, Freddy turned to me and said, "Good health and long life!" before swallowing the drink whole.

"Indeed," I replied wryly, before adding, "Thanks for letting me borrow your gun, Freddy."

"No problem, son," he replied, "Shall we go outside now?"

"Yes," I replied, "But just give me a couple of seconds. You go on ahead. I've got to sort something out first."

"Okay then," he replied cheerfully, "See you outside."

I waited for a moment until the footsteps died away. Then I quickly grabbed a kitchen knife, concealed it in my pocket and walked out after him. I was going to do this, one way or another.

I encountered him outside the locked barn; locked for a reason. He saw me coming, threw away his half-enjoyed cigarette and unlocked Aladdin's cave of wonders. Inside were all kinds of fireworks, every kind you could name and a dozen more you couldn't. They were all packed together in large, white slabs of boxes, printed formally with the names of the treats waiting beneath. Individual examples of such fireworks were hanging up all over the barn. I was impressed. It was just as an illegal fireworks den should look. Freddy saw my wonderment and chuckled, "Great, isn't it? Any particular type you want?"

I hesitated for a second. What would be the best kind to get him to turn his back on me? I noticed out of the corner of my eye a box at the bottom of a pile saying, _ROMAN CANDLES_. Thank you Popuri.

"Roman candles, please," I replied.

"Okay then," Freddy looked around and saw a box of Roman candles underneath a set of boxes of firecrackers, "You're lucky, this is the only box we have. Okay, I'll just get these firecrackers out of the way."

He was bent over with his back to me. It was now or never. I drew the blade...

_So long, Freddy. You were like a father to me, Karen and Popuri. You helped us all out when we needed it the most and we'll...always remember you. I never wanted it to go this way, but you knew too much, far, far too much for my liking. Goodbye, old friend._

Then, a pause. A voice of reason. Freddy couldn't possibly know anything. If he had known something, wouldn't he have said by now, or at least acted differently towards me? There was just no evidence. Why should I kill him? Why should I let my paranoia murder an old man? No, I was not going to become a killer.

"Hey, Rick," the prospective victim said, "These'll be great for a party. Just like your party, eh? I remember that. Now that was a good evening. Hehehehehehehe."

That laugh.

_THAT LAUGH!_

That laugh, it was almost exactly like the laugh of the hooded man in the night! He knew! He was _taunting_ me!

With a roar, I fell upon him and began stabbing wildly, slicing at him and tearing his flesh with the full force of my fury. God knows how long later, I stopped and he was dead. He died from the second stab. I hope.

I ran outside, hyperventilating, and collapsed on the grass. I was a murderer. I had killed. No better than a beast. Still, even in my moment of panic and anguish, I knew that I had to cover up my fearful deed. Quickly realising the camoflauging potential of the fireworks I first washed off the knife and put it back in its place, before gathering together hay and wood from the supply barn and bringing them to the crime scene. I moved Freddy's body between two large columns of fireworks and, after extracting his lighter, covered him and the boxes with the incendiary materials. I lit the mess alight and quickly walked back to the house. Composing myself with a cup of tea, I waited. Five minutes later, roaring firestorm.

The blast was tremendous; it was so massive that it rattled the window panes in the house of the deceased. Giving myself one moment to get ready, I ran out of the house, screaming, "Freddy, Uncle Freddy! Oh God, no!"

The malestrom was intense. I could barely get near to the site for the heat. I saw an approaching figure running through the fields and ran towards him. It was Gotz, the woodcutter. As he ran towards me, I screamed, "Gotz! Freddy's in there!"

"Damn it!" he yelled, "I'll try and get in, Rick! You go get help!"

"Okay!" I shouted back, above the roar of the inferno, "Good luck!"

I ran off, near delirious from the combined effects of the heat and my own personal madness. I staggered through the snowy fields towards the town, but I had not got far before a young girl reached me and I fell into her arms. I looked up and saw Popuri, staring at the blaze in shock.

_I did this for you_, I thought. _God damn you_.

--

Sombre morning. Silent breakfast. Mournful taste of cereal. Mother quiet, Popuri silently tearing up. Solemn knock at the door. It's Karen. Frosty tears in her eyes as we hug. We have to stay together in this time of grief. Skating? Yes, that might take our minds off it. Coat, boots, farewells. Off up the hill, down the other side to the river.

No ice. It is floating out to sea, cracked and broken. No more ice skating, no more happy adventures in the land of youth. Broken and gone forever. Much like my innocence. Poetic.

--

It's lights out in the prison. Good. I don't want to talk anymore. Tomorrow, maybe. We have a lot to talk about yet, don't we? Goodnight reader.

...Karen...that poor girl...


	15. Jack

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I intended for this chapter to be put up no less than a week after Chapter 14. Evidently, and embarassingly, this was not so.

I've had a busy year with many personal events that have changed me as a person and important academic events which have taken priority. Nevertheless, I am back for a long time to come and have no intention of abandoning this story whatsoever. It shall be done. Thank you for your patience, those of you who are still here (hopefully all of you!).

Nikooru-chan: Thanks for the review and I hope you enjoy this late, late chapter. I shall try hard not to be afraid!

The Scarlet Sky: Your praise always makes me feel warm and I'm truly glad you like this story. I apologize again for its lateness.

Akina Rose Sumora: You'll be pleased to know that this story is far from over! Around another 15-25 chapters are coming up. I shall try to be more active on this from now on.

kelley28: I like to think that suspense is one of my strengths, so I tend to use it quite a lot. Don't worry, I promise NEVER to abandon this story, even if I take a long time in uploading the next chapter. Thanks for your great review!

Kuro-Hidama: Unfortunately I've never played HM64, only BTN. And thanks for your many reviews, they are most appreciated!

Nina: Thanks for the review. Unfortunately, I tend to be grand in design and slightly less good at serving up the goods. TAD is on the back burner for now and probably won't be done, but we shall see, eh?

Karen Moondrop: Thanks very much. I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Ara: Thank you very much. This means an awful lot to me and inspires me to carry on. I apologize for my rude lateness.

Callie: Thank you. I hope to become a writer one day after gaining more experience and broadening my range of reading matter; I'm not yet good or varied enough to become the author I aspire to be. That's not false modesty, I genuinely do not think I'm good enough (hopefully yet) to be the writer I aim to be. But I'm working on it and practice and critique, such as that you have given me, are good fodder and experience. Thanks.

Larissa: What a beautiful review! I'm glad you took the time to make this long review, since it's evidence that you enjoyed my poor offering so much. I didn't like Freddy much and am glad he's out the way for the more charismatic Jack. And I'd fall for Popuri any day, even more so that Karen. Since I'm a lad, perhaps in my writing I tend to focus on the more, er, sexual aspects of Popuri's attractiveness, but then, so would Rick. A sordid tale indeed, but there we go. Thanks for your analysis of the murder scene, I thought it was underdone, but your critique gives me confidence that I did it well. Thank you.

Let's go.

Chapter 15: Jack

It was snowing on the day of the funeral. The flakes fell wearily, mournfully, over our heads as we trudged solemnly along the sodden path, signifying our grief over the loss of this most beloved man, a prince among farmers and a pillar of the community, illegal fireworks aside. Mother had made a rare appearance in the outside world in order to see Freddy off and Popuri clutched a tissue to her face as the coffin passed by towards the graveyard.

I am glad that I never saw Freddy's body after Gotz had recovered it from the fire, for I know that it would have gnawed at the already bloody and ragged edges of my haunting dreams. Gotz's description (himself shaken by the memory despite the quantities of whiskey he had imbibed to rid himself of it) was enough to make me shudder. Thankfully, it was safely encased in that monolithic slab of wood, ready to be buried underneath the earth, and hopefully my secret with it, forever.

I was a pallbearer at the funeral. Tragedy is always best served with a side-dish of irony. Along with Duke, Doug and Gotz, we bore Freddy down from the church through the misty meadow of the graveyard towards a freshly-dug spot under a yew tree. There, surrounded by the denizens of the town, we placed the coffin in the pit and consigned the old farmer to the afterlife.

"Do not grieve," intoned Carter soggily as the snow slowly began to overwhelm him, "For the Lord is merciful and just. He will..."

I wasn't listening. All I thought about as I waited in line to toss some earth into the grave was my dispatching of Freddy to the next world. Strangely, I didn't feel revulsion or regret for the deed. I simply felt relief, security, safe in the knowledge that the only other person aware of my feelings was dead and unable to threaten me. It felt good.

My turn. I grabbed a handful of snow-speckled ground and threw it into the wretched grave, muttering, "Goodbye Freddy, I will miss you...but not what you knew."

--------------------------------------------

That Christmas died along with Freddy. There was little celebration in the town that year. Although there were still smiles and glasses of wine, they were hollow and devoid of true pleasure. Old farmers never really die; they stick around after death and make everyone miserable.

I think it was on Boxing Day that a phone call arrived from Minnesota inquiring as to the health of a certain Frederick West. The caller was apparently the old man's grandson and had heard rumours that his grandfather had perished suddenly. Mayor Thomas confirmed the story. The young man was understandably taken aback, but asked about the funeral arrangements and cautiously alluded to the possibility of his inheriting the farm. The Mayor thanked him for his call and said he would get back to him as soon as possible. That was how I ended up in a meeting of town elders in the back room of the Mayor's house.

"I just don't think it's right that we let a stranger take over the farm! He wouldn't understand our way of life," said Duke loudly, with a hint of self-righteousness that comes from being a professed lover of "rural, family values" (although I question what kind of values those were in a man who regularly got drunk and beat his wife to a Biblical pulp)

"I appreciate your concern, Duke," said the Mayor, peering at the hefty man over his spectacles, "but there's no law that says we can deny him his inheritance just because we, erm, don't like city folk."

"Er, actually," I interjected hesitantly, "there is. If you read the town charter, it says that should the townsfolk not agree with the selection of a suitable heir to the West farm, they may reject the candidate in the name of "social harmony"."

"...There is?" replied the Mayor, "Gosh, I didn't know that."

I nearly rolled my eyes. Typical know-nothing career politician.

"Well, I agree with Duke," said Saibara gravely, "I don't think that this young fellow will be up to the job of carrying on Frederick's work."

"Let's not be so hasty," Barley retorted, "I think we should give this young man a chance. After all, we can always turn him out after a couple of years if he doesn't live up to his grandfather."

"That's right," added Doug genially, "Say we lease the farm to him for three years and see how he gets on? If he succeeds, the land is his. If not, we'll let him leave and take the property back."

Mayor Thomas thought for a while, before deciding, "Let's put it to the vote. Who wants the new man to come?"

Barley and Doug raised their hands.

"Who wants the farm to revert to town control?"

That won Duke and Saibara's votes.

Reader, obviously you will have noted that I abstained from voting. Why? To be perfectly honest with you, as only a criminal can be, I could not be bothered one way or the other. Still, when the Mayor pressed me to break the deadlock, I acquiesced fully.

"Sure, why not?" I answered, "Might be fun having a new guy around."

A lifetime of sin brought to an end in the stormy night. It could only be destiny.

"The young man can come and work on the farm for three years before we decide if he's good enough to stay," said the Mayor decisively, "That's settled then."

wrong. All stirred up.

----------------------------------------

His name was Jack West and he was a fresh-faced young man from the sun and swamps of Orange County. He stepped off the boat with nothing but five hundred dollars and a rucksack full of sandwiches. He was surprisingly young, or so I had heard, for at my tender age of eighteen (with one murder under my belt; not bad, America!) there was no such thing as "surprisingly young". He arrived on New Year's Day and it was a hungover Karen who had met him first."

"Oh. My. God!" she practically squealed to me in the Inn that morning as we sipped medicinal coffee, "He is SO hot!"

"How refreshing," I replied blandly, drinking the mud with a shudder.

"Oh don't worry," she replied soothingly, "You're still the only guy in my life." She continued with her praise of the new man unabated, "He's really nice though. He helped me with getting Duke to pay his tab at the Supermarket. Isn't that sweet of him? And him a stranger too!"

"He does sound a pretty nice guy," I admitted, "Maybe I can get him to stop Popuri messing around with the freakin' chickens. She's obsessed with this one chicken she calls Pon. It's really weird."

"You'd better watch out Rick," Karen joked, "She'll probably want to marry it or something."

Could my next victim be a chicken?

"Maybe," I said, "But she keeps taking Pon out of the roaming ground and leaving him out in the open. If she keeps forgetting to put him back in, bad things are gonna happen. We lost six chickens to stray dogs last year."

Karen picked up her cell phone in a flash and answered it (apparently it was ringing, the girl had an odd sixth sense when it came to her phone), "Hello? Oh, hi Mom. What?" She rolled her eyes, "Yes, okay then, I'll be back in a second."

She put the phone in her bag and stood up, explaining, "I've gotta go now Rick, Dad's got one of his stomach aches again and they need someone to watch the store." She bent down and kissed me before she bounded off, saying, "See ya later and look out for Jack!"

"Will do," I replied, before adding when she was safely out of hearing, "Damn guy must walk on water or something."

I finished my coffee and paid for our drinks (Karen always managed to sneak away before it was time to pay) and then headed back home since it was time to feed the chickens and collect their eggs.

I left the Inn and walked slowly back home, reflecting on Karen's praise of the new farmer. I knew without a doubt that Karen was exaggerating, but I was intrigued nevertheless. Jack West sounded like an interesting young man and perhaps even then I suspected that he would influence me greatly. No, that is one of my own exaggerations, drunk on the bitter wine of hindsight. He did, but I had no inkling then of what his friendship would give - and take away - from me.

A howl of grief ripped me back into reality. It emanated from the farm, filling me with gut-wrenching panic. Quickly, I picked up the pace and began sprinting home.

As I turned the corner of our house and the yard came into view, I saw Popuri and instinctively knew. She was crouching over a chicken with its throat ripped out. Pon.

I rushed over to her to take a closer look. When she saw me, she jumped up and threw herself into my arms sobbing heavily, "R-Rick, P-Pon was killed by a d-dog. I left him out of the pen and l-look now!"

Incandescent with rage, I pushed her away and yelled, "You idiot, Popuri! What the hell did I tell you about leaving the damn chickens out of the damn cage!? Now look what you've done!"

This set off a fresh round of weeping. Popuri replied, "T-there's no need to be so horrible, Rick. I-I didn't mean to."

"Well you are an idiot!" I shouted at her, "How many times have I told you to put the goddamn chickens in that pen!?"

"Oh I hate you, Rick!" Popuri shrieked and, tears streaming down her face, she ran off out of the yard.

"Popuri!?" I yelled, running after her, before reluctantly giving up and turning back to the yard.

"Er.....hello?" came a sudden voice. I looked up and saw an unfamiliar young man slowly approaching me.

I was struck immediately by his appearance. He was one of those clean-cut, fresh-faced, all-American youngsters who are ridiculously handsome and almost certainly good as gold. Annoyingly so. Yet he looked as though he was someone you could trust and would never regret placing that trust in him. He was wearing an orange-and-blue baseball cap and a short-sleeved t-shirt with casual blue jeans and he looked a million bucks.

"Oh, hello," I said, suddenly, snapping out of my thoughts, "You're Jack, right? I guess you heard us arguing?"

"Yeah, sorry friend. I wasn't interrupting anything personal, was I?" he asked in a strong Floridian accent, a light wave of concern crossing his face.

"Oh, no!" I quickly assured him, "What happened was one of our hens got killed by a stray dog. My sister Popuri forgot to put it in the coop, so I got mad and yelled at her."

"Ah, sorry to hear that."

"Say, would you do me a favour and go and bring Popuri back home?" I asked, suddenly, "I think she went up in the mountain behind our house. If I went to get her, we'd probably start arguing again."

"Sure, not a problem, my friend," he replied, smiling a hundred-million-dollar smile of trust and instant friendship, "I'll go get your sister for you."

"Thanks," I said, relieved I wouldn't have to endure a second round of arguing with Popuri.

As my new-found friend went to find Popuri, I turned back to the grisly details of the ex-chicken Pon and made ready to bury it later on at the pet's graveyard, since Popuri had obviously considered it to be more than just another proleish animal on our farm.

---------------------------------

Several hours passed. I was having a cup of tea in the kitchen when Popuri came in, slightly hesitantly and, eyes to the ground, whispered, "I'm sorry, Rick. I should have listened to you about Pon."

I got up and went over to her. I said magnanimously, "Hey, it's okay, kid. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted at you. Did Jack find you alright?"

"Yeah," she replied, "He's wonderful."

"That he is," I agreed, smiling warmly.

She hugged me and as I smelled her hair like a drowning man gasps for air, she said, "I love you Rick."

"I love you too, Popuri."

----------------------------------

The next day, around lunchtime, I went over to thank Jack for his help in getting Popuri to come home. When I arrived, I saw him slashing down weeds with a scythe. I stood and watched him for a few moments, as he was doing it in an almost graceful way, cutting down growth to the left and slicing long grass to the right with utter precision and care, yet also with a determined fury and a kind of controlled rage. Eventually, I walked over and called out to him, "Hey, Jack!"

He stopped and looked up, mopping his brow, and broke out in a genuine smile, "Hey stranger!" he called, "Whatcha up to?"

"I just wanted to thank you for looking after Popuri," I answered as I reached him, "It was very good of you."

"Not a problem, friend," he replied genially as he leaned on his scythe handle. He offered a hand and said, "What's your name, cowboy?"

"Rick," I replied, taking the hand and shaking it warmly, "I run the Poultry Farm with my mom and Popuri. If you ever need any chickens or chicken feed, call there."

"Thanks Rick, I will," he replied gratefully.

"I was also wondering," I added, "Do you want to come to the Inn with a few of the guys and have some drinks tomorrow night? It'd be good to have you."

"That sounds like a plan, kid!" he replied brightly, beaming at me, "I'd love to come. I'd better get back to work now if y'don't mind, I've got a lot of cutting to do."

"No problem," I replied, "See you around!"

As I left, there was a skip in my step. Jack seemed like a decent guy and a great new friend to make. I genuinely looked forward to his company and hoped he would succeed. 


End file.
